


Nathan Potter and the Club of Highly Awesome Virtuosos

by BrutalWarElf, nursehelena



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Metalocalypse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Crossover, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-26 15:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2656322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrutalWarElf/pseuds/BrutalWarElf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nursehelena/pseuds/nursehelena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dethklok goes to Hogwarts! Toki and Skwisgaar are a couple exchange students from Durmstrang, there's a Quidditch season to play under Gryffindor's freshly inaugurated Captain Explosion, and just what exactly is Pickles brewing in the Potions lab that's raking in so many galleons?  Seth wants in on the business at any rate, and Head Boy Offdensen will still do anything it takes to protect the boys. Meanwhile, innovation and a knack for musical talent brews in a world distinctly lacking of metal, and these guys can't help but fall into their dysfunctional, codependent family dynamic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Big shout-out to [leftoverse's](http://leftoverse.tumblr.com) Harry Potter/Metalocalypse-AU artwork, for inspiring this! Chapters will be notated as to who wrote them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by BrutalWarelf

When it was time for him to step up and don the Sorting Hat, Toki was still shaking from the news that some of the pets he had brought were prohibited at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and therefore had been confiscated and quarantined upon his arrival. Durmstrang had no such regulations as far as he had noticed , or was perhaps a bit more lax in observing them, so Toki had come to the exchange program wholly unprepared to say goodbye to his animal pals. He comforted himself in the knowledge that at least his owl, his rat and his Norwegian forest cats would be keeping him company tonight.

Headmaster Meaddle gave him an encouraging nod when Toki shot an uncertain glance at the Head Table, so he sat down on the stool and put on the Sorting Hat.

“No Houses at Durmstrang, eh?” The sorting Hat said in his ear. “Well, you’ll have to stay somewhere here at Hogwarts, so let’s see what you are made of…” The Sorting Hat muttered to itself about Gryffindor and Slytherin, but ended up shouting: “HUFFLEPUFF! For your kind and open heart,” it added quietly so only Toki would hear.

“Uhm, thanks you?” Toki said. He cast about in his memory which Houses where which, but his information came up short. He knew the red-and-gold clad students belonged to Gryffindor – that was the extent of his ready knowledge. Perhaps he should have paid a bit more attention in the preparatory courses.

An older boy, a ginger in a black and yellow tie, beckoned him to take place at his table, and Toki gratefully sat down next to him. He smelled a bit funny, like a Herbology greenhouse and a potions experiment gone wrong. Apparently black and yellow was Hufflepuff… He wondered vaguely why their crest was a badger. A bumblebee would have been better, considering the colours.

“Hello. My name is Toki.” He said in his best English.

“Hey, little guy.” The redhead replied in an accent that was nearly incomprehensible to Toki’s untried language skills. “Pickles. Ye gonna keep wearin’ that hat?”

Toki stared at Pickles for a moment, nonplussed, until he figured out his blue knitted hat was the problem. He stuffed it into the black robes that had been provided for him. 

“Skwigelf, Skwisgaar!” The roll call of exchange students went on. International Magical Relations had improved since the Second Wizarding War, and to celebrate this fact, extensive exchange programs had been set up between Wizarding schools from all over the world. Toki had seen it as the perfect opportunity to remove himself from his parents’ stifling influence for an extended period of time.

He had seen not seen the pale, blond, fifth-year who stepped up to the dais before today, though his presence on the ship meant he studied at Durmstrang as well. There was something about him; his compelling, majestic presence drew the eyes of every girl in the hall. The murmuring that had swelled around the candle-lit Great Hall at the mention of his name dissolved into disappointed sighs from all but the Ravenclaw table when Skwigelf got sorted there.    

“I heard his mum’s a Veela,” a fourth-year opposite Toki muttered, disgruntled envy prominent on his face as the girl next to him turned in her seat to follow Skwigelf’s trajectory.

“Now you’re just being jealous.” The girl retorted. “Scandinavian purebloods are just a step up from your average British wizard.”

Skwigelf remained the recurring topic of conversation all throughout dinner.  Toki sampled the strange British cuisine under the autumn moon projected by the ceiling of the Great Hall, listened in on conversations between students around them, and tried not to think about what had happened to his miniature Swedish Shortsnout and his Thestral.

“Pickle,” Toki asked over dessert, which everyone insisted referring to as pudding no matter the variation, “say I had some pets that aren’t allowed. Where woulds they take them?”

“That’s an excellent question. Purely hypothetical, right?” Pickles winked. “Not sure, but the Gamekeeper might be able to point ye in the right direction.”

“Where do I finds him?”

“There’s this cabin at the edge of the Forbidden Forest…” Pickles trailed off at Toki’s blank stare. “You know what? I’ll take ye there tomorrow after class. The ingredients for my potions projects are bound to come in tomorrow, anyway.”

“Alright! Thanks you, Pickle,” Toki said. Locating them would have to be the first step towards reclaiming them, or at least making sure they were being cared for properly. “I hope they are okay…” He sighed to no one in particular.

The Hogwarts students ended the dinner gathering with a song Toki did not know the words to, but it sounded funny and made him smile. He caught the eye of the other exchange student a table over. Skwigelf shrugged minutely and pulled a face at Toki – he did not know the words either, nor did he seem to have any love lost for the tune.

Since everyone at the castle seemed to have settled in since the beginning of the school year earlier, Toki was at a bit of a loss when the exodus of students caused some minor queueing and milling in front of the Great Hall’s entrance. He decided to just follow Pickles, but where Toki expected to be led to a dormitory of sorts, Pickles led him through increasingly dark and quiet corridors, into the dungeons.

“Can I help ye with something?” Pickles said absently, as if he only noticed Toki trailing him now.

“Where are we going, Pickle?”

“Oh, I’m just gonna give my potions a stir, it’s right around-”

“Pickle, look! A House Elf!” Toki exclaimed at the creature ghosting around a corner.

“Yeah, Toki,” Pickles was significantly less intrigued. “This way.” He beckoned.

“Oh wowee, is that a gargoyle?!” Toki darted across the hallway to inspect a monstrous, looming statue.

“Toki.” Pickles sighed. “Stay with me.  I don’t want ye gettin’ lost on my watch.” He tugged Toki along by the wide sleeve of his robe.

They rounded the corner of the dark corridor, only to find themselves waylaid by three seventh-years. The mean-looking, ratty boy who spoke up bore a faint resemblance to Toki’s companion, but sported the silver-and-green of Slytherin House.

“Hey Pickles. Heh. How’s yer lil’ fuckin’ project coming along? Heh.”

At Toki’s side, Pickles froze.

“What project?” He feigned ignorance.

“Yer fuckin’ potions business in Hammersmith’s fuckin’ classroom.  Heh. Makin’ a lot of fuckin’ Galleons selling that stuff, huh?” Pickles held his tongue and waited to see where this was going. “I think yer gonna want to cut me a share of that. Heh. Fuckin’ brotherly love and all that. Otherwise, heh, I can’t promise that Crozier won’t get wind of it.”

The two guys behind the speaker cracked their knuckles when Pickles did nothing but grit his teeth. It was going to come to blows and Pickles was going to let himself be pushed around just like that! Toki slipped his hand into the pocket of his robes and gripped the handle of his wand. He had no idea if he could take on three seventh-years, but he was quick and his hexes were said to pack a punch in duelling club. Word had it they did not even teach any serious curses at Hogwarts.

“Heh. Turn out yer fuckin’ pockets, Pickles.”

When one of them made a grab for the front of Pickles’ robes, Toki drew out his wand and lashed out with a well-aimed “ _Sectumsempra_!”

The blood that splattered the dungeon walls made everyone but Toki recoil in horror. Toki’s target, who clutched bloodied hands at his abdomen, fell to the floor screaming.

“Toki!” Pickles gasped. The fine spray of blood on his face complemented his fiery hair nicely, Toki thought with glee.

While his victim lay bleeding on the ground, the other two assailants turned to flee. Toki ran after them and hit one of them with a _Petrificus Totalus_ to prevent escape, but he slipped in the pooling blood, losing his wand upon impact. It clattered from his reach. Before he could scrabble up to reclaim it, someone strode past him with hurried steps.

A nasal voice called: “ _Stupefy_!” Pickles’ brother went down with a heavy thud a few metres short of rounding the corner. The newcomer turned back to cast a silencing spell on Toki’s screaming victim.

Toki pocketed his wand and stood up to thank his unexpected helper, a seventh-year in Hufflepuff robes. He sported rectangular glasses, back-combed hair, and a badge that marked him head boy.  

“Oh shit, we’re in trouble,” Pickles winced as he surveyed the mess of stunned and thrashing and bleeding bodies. “Offdensen, run before they bust us all.”

“Why do you think I’m here? To make sure that does not happen. We might be able to salvage this if we work quickly. You!” The head boy turned to Toki. “The counter-curse! Trust me, you don’t want to be responsible for, ah, letting someone bleed to death in this castle. Pickles, round up Seth and his friend.”

“ _Mobilicorpus_!” Pickles waved his wand with a jerky movement while Toki racked his brain for a spell that would staunch the bleeding and heal his victim. As soon as he managed to lessen the flow, the Head Boy closed the wound, and made the blood disappear with a muttered _Evanesco_.

“Wowee, that’s a real useful spell!” Toki tried to discern the workings behind the magic, but resigned himself to having to learn it from a text-book, because it was too complicated.

“Step aside, boys,” the Head Boy warned.

Pickles unceremoniously dumped the two immobilised bodies next to the newly healed victim and stepped behind him, dragging Toki along.

“ _Obliviate_ ,” the Head Boy spoke in a commanding voice. Eyes unfocused even through the effects of the stuns, which were cancelled next. The three scrabbled up with confused faces just in time for a teacher to round the corner.

“What’s the meaning of all this racket, Mr Offdensen?”

Toki wanted to ask the professor what happened to his milky left eye, but decided to wait to see how the Head Boy would pull his ass out of the fire.

“Sibling rivalry, I’m afraid, professor Hammersmith,” Offdensen replied smoothly. “I believe Pickles was on his way to check on his, ah, potions project in your classroom before retiring for the night when he was waylaid by his brother.”

Pickles’ brother gave a dumb nod, still under the confounding effects of the memory charm.

“Fifteen points from Slytherin.” Hammersmith sent the three scurrying back down the corridor with an unnerving look from his mismatched eyes. “You have five minutes. If I see any Hufflepuffs or whatever you are,” he glanced at Toki’s neutral black tie, “in the dungeons when I return, you will lose House Points as well.”

Head Boy Offdensen hurried them along, urging Pickles to make haste as he stirred his potions. They cleared the dungeons corridors without further trouble. A rhythmic tapping on one of the big barrels near what smelled like a kitchen eventually gained them entrance to the cosy Hufflepuff common room.

“Pickles, why don’t you show, ah, Toki, was it? Show Toki where the third-years sleep. For now, you will speak to no one about this. In the morning I want to have words with you both. We’ll never win the House Cup this way.” 

“Thanks for savin’ our asses, Charlie!” Pickles said cheerfully. The whole commotion had slid off him like water off a duck. Toki wondered if that had anything to do with the strange-smelling fumes he had inhaled over his cauldrons.

Pickles did not need to point out Toki’s bed, because his five cats already occupied the four-poster. Toki yawned. Using those powerful spells had drained him, but at least it had made him forget his worry concerning his other pets for a while.

So far Hogwarts had proved as much of a hostile place as Durmstrang, rather than the laid back institute he had been promised, but Toki knew how to hold his own in hostile places.  He folded his robes across the trunk at the foot of his bed. His one-eyed cat Odin immediately sat down on it, creating just enough space for Toki to slide under the covers between the other four. 

“Sleep tight, Toki. Next time, go for the one with the ratty facial hair. That’s my brother Seth, he’s usually the brains behind the operation, and trust me, he deserves everythin’ bad on his path.” 

“I keeps it in mind, Pickle.” Toki said. He yawned again. “Sees you in the morning.”

***

“Ey Toki, ye wanna go say goodbye to yer dragon before they ship him off to Romania?” Pickles nudged Toki where he pored over his Transfiguration homework in the Hufflepuff common room.

“Oh no, is that today?!” He shrilled.

Pickles shushed him. “Tonight. Take it easy, okay? I’ll take you down to Rockstein’s if yew help me carry some things.” He pushed a heavy messenger bag filled with clinking bottles into Toki’s hands.

The light drizzle outside steadily dampened their robes as the trudged across the sodden grounds towards the gamekeeper’s cabin.

“Cheer up, Toki. Aren’t ye glad someone’s gonna take good care of him? Ye realise ye can’t keep a full-grown Swedish Shortsnout around as a pal, right?”

“I thoughts it was a miniature.” Toki sulked. “I woulds have taken good care of him.”

“Sure ye would have, but there’s no such thing as miniature dragons. Just babies. He must’a just hatched when ye found him.”

“And what’s a baby gots to do all alone in Romania without Toki to take care of him?”

“Toki, he won’t be alone at the Dragon Sanctuary, that’s the whole point. And hey, at least your Thestral can run with the herd here. Be glad they’re allowing you that much for the sake of ‘International Magical Cooperation’. The school rules say students can have either an owl, a rat, a toad, or a cat. So far you’ve brought an owl, a rat, five cats, a Thestral and a freakin’ dragon. ”

“Yeah, but they’s my pals! I don’ts got no other ones.”

“Sure ye do. Ye got me, right? And Offdensen thinks you’re really cool.” Pickles gave him a reassuring smile.

“Really?” Toki asked to be sure. It sounded almost too good to be true, having actual friends. “Wowee, thanks you, Pickle.” Bottles clinked as Toki moved in for a hug. “What’s in the bags?”

“Oh, ye know, just-”

“Pickle!” He gasped. “Dids you see that?!”

“What, Toki?”

Toki did a double-take at the movement he thought he had seen in the lake. When he tried to rush to the water’s edge, Pickles grabbed a handful of his billowing robes and hauled him back.

“Focus, Toki. Dragon, remember? This way. Besides, ye don’t want to be getting’ too close to that lake. They dump magical waste in there; no telling what might surface to bite ye in the ass.”

Toki cast a last, wistful glance at the lake and followed Pickles to the dilapidated cottage at the edge of the Forbidden Forest; their first stop on the way to his confiscated dragon. Rockstein the odd Gamekeeper did not seem to be in his cabin, but Pickles strode around the cabin through the pumpkin patch. A shifty look around told him it was safe to stoop and pocket a few of the huge mushrooms that grew in between the impressive pumpkins. When Toki bent to follow suit, Pickles warned him away from them.

Toki had yet to get used to the sight of Rockstein’s neon-blue hair and dingy robes composed of similar eye-wrenching hues under a layer of filth, but it made him easy to spot among the trees.  

The Swedish Shortsnout he led them to had grown exponentially since Toki had seen it last a few days ago. The dragon was now the size of a pony. Rockstein had it tethered deep in the Forbidden Forest, where students were unlikely to happen upon it. While Toki dodged the small fireballs the Shortsnout coughed up in an attempt to get close enough to pet it, the messenger bags exchanged hands.

“… I’ll make sure this gets to your k-k-k-contact in Hogsmeade this weekend,” Rockstein assured Pickles. “Should be right in time for him to put it on the market in k-k-k-Knockturn  Alley next week. What fee did you guys agree on?”

“Toki, yer robe’s on fire,” Pickles warned with an offhand laugh before turning back to Rockstein.

Toki extinguished his clothes with a quick spell and gave up on getting closer to the dragon. He joined his friend at Rockstein’s side.

“So this is for your trouble…” Pickles said, pointing out a small bottle, the contents of which swirled with violent colours. “Did ye by any chance get a parcel for me via Owl post?”

“Yeah, listen, baby, we gotta talk about what you have sent to my address, ‘cause this…” They both turned to regard Toki. “Just k-k-k-get it out of my sight.” Pickles nodded at that.

“Sure thing, chief. Could you…” He glanced at Toki.

“Hey Toki,” Rockstein cleared his throat, “have you ever seen a k-k-flying motorbike?”

“A whats?” Toki gasped in excitement.

“Come on, baby, let’s go for a joyride. Your friend needs to take care of business for a minute.”

The flying motorcycle had come with the job, or so Rockstein claimed. He let Toki clamber into the sidecar and fired up the engine. After a wobbly take-off they tore through over the tops of the trees, away from the castle. Toki felt the wind whip his hair back and let out an excited whoop. The vast forest passed under them in a blur, but Toki noticed a lightning-blackened tree up ahead. Thinking about what a spectacle it would make, he fumbled his wand out of the pocket of his robes and pointed it at the scorched trunk.

“Reducto!” He shrieked with laughter as they flew through a cloud of charcoal and ash. Petty destruction proved time and again to be infinitely satisfying, so Toki repeated the process by setting a new tree alight.

“Yeah, I get it, baby,” Rockstein said with a face full of soot. He turned the motorcycle around. “Let’s see if your friend is ready to take you back.”

Rockstein was still wearing an unamused look when they touched down next to a waiting Pickles. He steered Toki to the dragon’s water supply and dunked his head a couple of times.

“You k-k-k-got something on your face, baby,” he said flatly when Toki came up spluttering. “Now get out of here before that know-it-all Head Boy comes poking around here again in search of you.”

It was just as well that Rockstein said it, for Offdensen met them at the castle’s entrance. Toki favoured him with a hug. His new friends were really cool.   

 


	2. Chapter 2

Seated in the shade of an unused classroom, Skwisgaar rested the neck of his guitar in the crook of his elbow so that he could massage his temples. The tension headache that commenced as soon as he stepped foot onto Hogwarts' grounds refused to relent. No matter how many hours he slept or how many visits he paid to the low-energy, eye-rolling Healer that ran the hospital wing, it still throbbed away. He couldn't chalk it up to the change in time zones, since the hour difference between northern Norway and Scotland should've been accustomed to within a week of arrival. Thinner robes and heavier rain gave him a head-cold and constant chill to fend off, so perhaps it all tied in together.

Ignoring his various aches and pains for the moment, the tip of Skwisgaar's wand followed his fingers to rest against his hairline. He liked to pretend that the reason his head hurt so much was because studying for OWLs offered little opportunity to indulge in his favourite pastime. The miniature pensieve his mother gifted him with a few Christmases prior began to collect figurative dust on his bedside table. Well, it'd been stolen once too, but help from Abigail, one of the Prefects his age, restored it from beneath the pillow of a seventh year Ravenclaw boy.

When music didn't translate directly from his brain, the pensieve came in handy. Skwisgaar listened upon revisiting the song stuck in his head for the past fortnight, then directed his hands to replicate it. The music seemed to come from nowhere, but bounced nicely off the stone walls. The acoustics _could_ be better, which probably meant Skwisgaar would attempt a different classroom the next time he had a moment to dedicate to this.

“Hey!”

Skwisgaar's fingers came to a jumbled stop as the unexpected voice pierced his concentration. Irritated, he squinted at his intruders. Yellow ties with black stripes denoted Hufflepuff. Right. . .this was that third year that too arrived from Durmstrang. “Hm. Did you need somet'ing?”

Skwisgaar saw Wartooth's companion around the castle as well, primarily in the dungeons. He'd darted into Potions a few times during lessons to tend to whatever brewed away.

“That was you playing?” he asked.

Gesturing at the room at large provided Skwisgaar's answer; who else?

“What's that?” While the one kid awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, Wartooth marched across the room so that he could peer at the pensieve. “Oh, cool! Is it like your diary?”

“ _Pff._ ” Skwisgaar rolled his eyes. That was what got it stolen in the first place—hopes to gain some incriminating or embarrassing thoughts. “I don't use it dat way, no. Do you mind? I'm kind of busy.”

“Skwisgaar, right?” The request went ignored. “I'm Toki, in case you didn'ts know, and this is Pickle. So what're you doing, anyway? Did you makes that song you were just playing? I've never heard it before.”

Toki pulled one of the chairs around, so that he could better examine the instrument situated on Skwisgaar's lap. Skwisgaar's first reaction was to shoo both of them away, but hesitated in face of someone so keen toward his preoccupation. Loneliness took its toll, over the last few weeks. He couldn't isolate himself for the entire school year. It seemed possible, especially after his housemates left a sour taste in his mouth, but introversion only carried him so far in that assertion.

“No, it's. . .one I'm just working on.” Though used to the attention his talents garnered at Durmstrang, Skwisgaar fidgeted as Pickles approached. Normally he never tired of people telling him his music was brilliant for his age—he knew it to be true—but being dropped into a house full of bright and witty kids humbled him. His nose didn't ride as high in the air as usual, anyway.

A couple Hufflepuffs seemed safer, judging by the ones he attended classes with. Toki of course was probably harmless, spare his affiliation with dangerous or iffy creatures. Pickles' laid back attitude thus far didn't pose any sort of threat.

“Play it again?” Toki requested. “Don't stop just because we cames in.”

“Toki, maybe he wants to play by himself.”

“It's okay. I don't mind.” The corners of Skwisgaar's mouth worked hard against a smile. “Take a seat, if you want.”

An audience was second-nature to Skwisgaar; he grew used to attention, thanks to his mother's Veela blood travelling through his veins. While that worked well for his ego, it did little good for his self-esteem. He aimed for legitimate notoriety through his music, and automatically attracting people thwarted his gauge on how well he _actually_ played. What else could he do though, but shrug off the hypnotic gaze his compositions pulled?

The strings of Skwisgaar's guitar falling silent caused the other two to blink rapidly and straighten from their slouched positions over the desk. “So. . .dis is what I've been working on.”

“Dude, can I see that?” Pickles pointed at the pensieve. “I saw one down Knockturn Alley in August, but I wasn't sure what it was. Seemed too good to be true, ye know what I mean? Where did ye get it?”

“My mom gave it to me.” Hesitant at first, Skwisgaar handed it over. “It comes in handy. Doesn't hold as much as one of de bigger ones, but I don't put memories into it, anyway.”

“Cool.” Toki snatched it next. “What do you do with it, then? If this was mine, I'd put all my happy memories into it so thats whenever I felt sad, I could cheer myself up.”

That wasn't a bad idea, actually. With the sticky fingers and conspiring minds in Ravenclaw house though, Skwisgaar would never dare. When Toki handed it back, he slipped it into his bag and went about putting away his instrument. “I'm done for now.”

“So what do you want to do, then?”

“What do you mean?”

Toki gazed expectantly at Skwisgaar. “You want to pal around with us, or do you have somewhere to be?”

“Herbology, actually.”

“Can we walk with you?”

Given his impression so far of Hogwarts, uncertainty plagued Skwisgaar toward the two people accompanying him downstairs. Absence of Durmstrang's blood-red robes, fur cape, and hat to match for the winter months made him forget that he and Toki attended the same institute. Their age difference didn't help either, although at least Toki's accent offered a taste of home. If they weren't so encouraged to speak English through the exchange program, Skwisgaar might be tempted to see how Toki's Swedish held up, if at all. “Don't you have a class right now?”

“No, but I'm heading outside too, so we're goings in the same direction.” As draining as Toki's energy would normally be on Skwisgaar, it felt good to finally get in with somebody in this stupid castle. Skwisgaar reluctantly vowed to make some friends abroad and maybe, through Toki, that would become possible.

Outside of their professors and necessity, Skwisgaar couldn't actually recall when last he spoke to _anyone_. Abigail chatted him up on occasion after the entire incident with his pensieve, but a girl doing so without dissolving into a slobbering mess was a new phenomenon to deal with. She had yet to join the gaggle that followed him about the castle, filling his days with distant giggles and excited whispers.

Toki talked non-stop about whatever came to mind, pointing out various things around the castle that he'd learned since their arrival. Skwisgaar felt utterly boring, humming and nodding along to show his interest. When they swung down by the greenhouses, having mysteriously lost Pickles along the way, Skwisgaar was grateful that someone took the time to reassure him he wasn't invisible.

“. . .I should probably go, anyway.” Toki finally took a breather. “Rockstein's expecting me, and he wants to show me some gnomes! I'm so excited!”

For that? Well, Skwisgaar could probably take for granted that even flobberworms would light Toki with curiosity. “More dan likely you're going to wind up de-gnoming the Quidditch pitch. I overheard de Ravenclaw Chasers saying dat it was infested again.”

“That's okay! Gnomes are so funny. I love them.”

Delayed farewells sent Toki sprinting off toward the Forbidden Forest. Skwisgaar watched him go, considering calling out to warn about the Whomping Willow, but one threatening swing of its branches altered Toki's path. Professor Chesterfield set into his final stages before calling the class' attention and docking points to those that arrived late; it took all Skwisgaar possessed not to roll his eyes when a short gasp and giggles overtook one stretch of plants along Greenhouse Five's beds. Thankfully, a resentful silence followed as Skwisgaar set his bag at his station next to Abigail's.

She greeted him with a smile. “Better watch your geranium. It's in a mood.”

“Great.” Skwisgaar dug his dragon-hide gloves out of his bag. Although he wouldn't be able to feel it, he still recoiled his hand when the mercurial plant snapped at his fingers. “If you want me to water you, you'll stop.”

Sprayed mist to start calmed it down enough for Skwisgaar to pour some water around its stem. Abigail casually watched, leaned forward on her elbow. “Who was that Hufflepuff you were talking to, outside?”

“Toki Wartooth. He's a third-year, but from Durmstrang too.”

“That's what I thought. What a little cutie. I can't get near him, though—soon as I do, my allergies act up.”

“I wouldn't doubt it. He's got a dozen cats or so, I t'ink.”

“And here I thought maybe he was a werewolf.”

Chuckling, Skwisgaar glanced over at her. Then, he took a double-take. “Uh. . .your geranium's chewing on your hair.”

“Ugh, _again?_ ”

“All right everyone, calm down.” Professor Chesterfield's tiny eyes scanned the greenhouse, waiting for students to get a grip on themselves just as much as the more wayward plants. “Put your gloves on. Today, we're going to harvest the fangs. Please, try not to get yourselves bitten. I'd rather not send anyone to the hospital wing.”

*

The library hushed around Skwisgaar and Abigail as stacks of books separated their view of each other from opposite sides of the table. Abigail remained the only fifth year Ravenclaw girl thus far to see him as more than someone born of a Veela. If not for the fact that Prefect duties and a certain maturity separated Abigail already from the other girls, Skwisgaar would feel bad that they now treated her the same way the boys in his dormitory did _him_. For someone like Skwisgaar that made friends with such difficulty, she alongside Toki and sometimes Pickles lessened the tension that shifted from Skwisgaar's head to his shoulders.

Abigail's quill slowed its scratching as her attention wavered from the essay she worked on. “Oh no. . .he's staring at me again.”

“Who?”

“Nathan Explosion.” Abigail kept her voice low. “Just don't look behind you, or he'll know we're talking about him.”

“Who _is_ dat, though?”

“He's in Gryffindor. He's been doing this since halfway through third year.”

“What's so bad about him?”

“Nothing, really. I just don't want that. Not right now.”

Skwisgaar used the need to search for a new book as opportunity to check this person out. He assumed a process of elimination would be necessary, since surely haunting somebody so effectively required at least _some_ finesse. However, he didn't have to look any further than a craggy boy he'd shared a few classes with ogling Abigail. It wouldn't have mattered if Skwisgaar looked back while seated, he reasoned, for nothing could break Nathan's line of vision.

“Odin.” Skwisgaar covered being startled by running a hand over his face. Upon removing a tome of a book, unblinking green eyes appeared in its place from the other side of the shelf. “What de hell's your problem? You don't sneak up on people like dat.”

“Sorry,” Nathan whispered back.

Skwisgaar clutched the book to his chest as Nathan traversed aisles. Even with an inch on him in height, Skwisgaar felt significantly smaller as they stood toe-to-toe. With such broad shoulders for someone their age, certainly Nathan could do a number if necessary. This close though, the cragginess seemed his default expression; the aggression Skwisgaar thought he saw there didn't actually exist.

“You need to help me,” Nathan continued, without so much as properly introducing himself. “You're friends with Abigail.”

“Ja,” Skwisgaar hesitantly admitted.

“I'm too scared to talk to her. How do you do it?” Nathan rubbed the back of his neck; mere lift of his arm exposed Skwisgaar to enough body odour to wrinkle his nose, as well as a terror-sweat stain large enough to draw his gaze. “I mean, you're that foreign kid, right? With the fan club?”

Right on time to confirm that, giggles sounded from the near vicinity. “I don't t'ink I'm de person for you to ask.”

“Who _better?_ ” Nathan side-stepped, halting Skwisgaar's attempted escape. “C'mon.”

“I don't know what you want me to tell you. Dat isn't somet'ing I can help.” Skwisgaar jerked his head in general direction of the girls that had tracked him down, despite his best efforts. “It's only because of how I was born. You t'ink dey would care, if my mom wasn't what she is?”

“Forget that, then. You know Abigail. What do I say, to make her like me?”

“I have no idea. You can't force her to like you, anyway.”

“What did _you_ say?”

“I don't even remember. She helped me find Ravenclaw Tower when I first got here, dat's all dat comes to mind.”

Nathan bowed his head, diving into deep thought. While he did that, Skwisgaar brushed past. “Pardon me. . .I have an essay to write for Binns. It's three-hundred kinds of boring, so I need full concentration to finish it.”

Abigail leaned closer as soon as Skwisgaar resumed his seat. “What did he just say to you?”

Skwisgaar shrugged, hesitating to get stuck in the middle. Thankfully, hailing down Toki as he skirted about the library made a decent distraction. He walked oddly, something Skwisgaar decided to not inquire upon. Whatever Toki was up to, he wanted just as little to do with it.

“Hey, sweetie.” Abigail moved her bag so that Toki could plop down beside her. “How's it going?”

“Good! I just got back from visiting Rockstein.” Toki beamed. “All my pals are doing really well with him.”

“I think I have all de books I need,” Skwisgaar told Abigail. A raised eyebrow told her wordlessly that Nathan's quiet stewing doubled in severity, and could very well result in something embarrassing should they stick around. “Why don't we go up to de common room?”

Little harm came from bringing Toki into Ravenclaw quarters, since the sorting hat's rulings were little more than a formality. Not to mention, Toki could never figure the riddles out on his own and the most damage he did was unleashing a wrackspurt on the unsuspecting masses.

While they tucked away into a corner of the common room, Skwisgaar ignored the mischievous little smile and shifty gaze that Toki adopted. Movement out of the corner of Skwisgaar's eye meant nothing until a muffled voice sounded. “What de hell was dat?”

“I don't know. . .” Abigail searched her immediate area. “Someone's cat. . .?”

“Let me go!” It came again.

“Toki.” Abigail craned at his protesting robes. “What do you have? Did you sneak something in?”

“Aw, leave him alone. He's my pal.”

“Gerroff!”

“Toki—”

“Ow!” Toki jerked away from the struggling mass, glee no longer evident. Something round and thick hit the floor. Feet scrambled in the air before it darted, leaping head-first behind a sofa. “He bit me!”

“What is dat?” Skwisgaar leapt up. The last thing he wanted right now was to feel sharp little teeth digging into his ankles. “What is it _dis_ time? A gnome?”

“I thoughts he was cool!” Toki lamented, rubbing his inner arm. “I thought maybe he'd like to see inside Hogwarts and, you know, be pals. . .”

“We're going to catch him and then we're going to take him back outside, all right?” Abigail told him. “No ifs, ands, or buts. If that thing isn't in your grasp within fifteen minutes, I'm going to start docking points from Hufflepuff.”

“Dat's a bit severe, isn't it?” Skwisgaar asked under his breath as a newly pale and wide-eyed Toki dropped to his hands and knees in search for the runaway creature.

“I can't stand those things.” Abigail shuddered, rubbing her upper arms. “We get them in our garden all the time, at home. One bit me, when I was young. Ever since. . .”

Although threatened, Toki managed to find fun in the task; a group of first and second year Ravenclaws became interested in his endeavour, then quickly joined in. Well within the quarter-hour allotted to him, Toki stood straight with the offending gnome grasped by the ankle. “I got him!”

“ _Gerroff!_ ”

Outside beyond the oak doors, the gnome sustained a single, low note as Toki swung him in circles intent to toss.

“So, did we learn anything today?” Abigail kept her distance.

“Don't smuggle gnomes into the castle.”

“More than that?”

“Don't smuggle _anything_ into the castle?” Toki ventured.

“Bang on, sweetie.”

When Toki released the gnome, it sailed in direction of the lake and landed ungracefully on its shoulder. A short roll ended with it on its feet, stumbling away. Smiling, Toki turned back to them. “You gots to admit though, he's funny.”

“From here, sure. Maybe a little.”

“I thought we'd be pals. He kept coming back to get tossed, when we were de-gnoming the Quidditch field.”

“What was de plan? Letting him sleeps wit' your millions billions cats?”

“Hey, my cats _like_ gnomes!” Toki shot back at Skwisgaar. “You should've seen them, when we all came out here the other night. They were chasing each other, having a good time. . .”

Sighing, Abigail collected Toki with an arm around his shoulders. “Skwisgaar and I still have an essay to do. If you want to sit with us in the Ravenclaw common room, then come along.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter written by nursehelena. More will be posted tomorrow!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by nursehelena.

“God, how do you _live_ like this?”

Murderface leaned against the headboard of his four-poster, legs weighed down by Bathilda Bagshot's _A History of Magic._ He intended to shower before following Nathan down to the Quidditch pitch, but was distracted by sudden compulsion to reread everything he could find in this text regarding Urg the Unclean. The goblin activist of rebellions past hadn't graced his mind much since penning a fifteen-page long essay for Binns the previous year. Murderface still basked in pride thanks to the short note labelling it as 'riveting'. Surely, getting that out of the dead codger was worth bragging about.

That went contested though, should Murderface ever try with his peers.

“Live like what?” Murderface shot back at Nathan, who layered up to face the October wind. Figuring he too might as well get ready, the large book slapped shut. “You're the one that schtinksch thisch place up. Have you even _heard_ of deodorant?”

“I wear it everyday, so shut up.”

“Maybe it'sch not schtrong enough. There'sch that kid in my year, Picklesch, I bet he could brew you up schomething to make you schmell lessch like a troll.”

“Shut up.” Nathan stepped toward Murderface to land his fist in his shoulder, but stumbled over a book obscured by strewn clothing. “God _damn_ it Murderface, how do you make such a mess when the house elves go through here everyday?”

“A little bit of chaosch never hurt anyone,” Murderface sagely responded.

“Except my toes.”

With threat of an unspent punch pending, Murderface leapt into action. Well. . .as enthusiastically as he could manage, which resulted in protesting lungs as Nathan sped-walk across the expansive lawn toward the pitch.

Murderface wheezed as they approached. “What'sch the big rusch? It'sch _try-outsch_. Who wantsch to humour a bunch of little dildosch that can hardly get off the ground?”

“Punctuality matters. If we want these guys to take us seriously, then we need to set the example.”

Murderface didn't see how it mattered. They only needed to replace their Seeker this year since Eric Jomfru finished studies the previous spring. The rest of the team already milled about the change room, neglecting to have dressed into their uniforms. They looked upon their newly promoted Captain with boredom and, in one case, disdain.

“How did _you_ get the position?” Rebecca Nightrod snapped from where she sat with tightly crossed arms and legs. “That was supposed to go to _me_. This was my last shot for it. Thanks for _nothing_ , Tonto.”

“Stampington chose me.” Nathan shrugged. “Doesn't matter. This is the team and no matter what, we're getting that cup this year. I hate making speeches, so. . .pretend I just said something really inspiring. And also, that it worked. Let's find our new Seeker.”

Rachel, Gryffindor's Keeper, smiled at Nathan as they all departed the change room, crossing Murderface's arms. Stupid Nathan. Despite his sullen attitude, lack of proficiency toward words, and tendency to attract flies these days, he still got more attention from girls than Murderface. The stupidest thing of all was that, despite this, the ones that bore interest in Nathan in turn inspired no spark. Murderface didn't believe in the concept of sloppy seconds; he'd _kill_ for a shot at Rachel, Rebecca, or even that Slytherin Chaser Lavona. Unfortunately, flirting never got Murderface anywhere.

“Hey there, Babe.” Knubbler, a fellow sixth year and Murderface's companion Beater, fell into step beside him. “I've got to tell you, I didn't see much promise when I poked my head out onto the field. Most of the kids trying out are only in their first or second year. The older ones? The same ones that try out _every_ year, but can't even hold onto the Quaffle.”

“Don't tell Nathan that, I guessch.” Not that it mattered; he'd find out eventually. This exact issue was why Murderface didn't want the Captain position. Although it came with prestige, the responsibilities hampered that.

“And then he's going to have to replace _me_ , next year.” Twinkletits, the third Chaser along with Nathan and Rebecca, draped his arms around their shoulders. “I _am_ the team.”

Ignoring that statement as sunlight squinted his eyes, Murderface shielded them in order to scope out the crowd from which their new Seeker would arise. Just like Knubbler said, the prospect seemed quite grim. Murderface would rather kill himself than watch that dildo Seth gloat when his team took the Cup for the fourth year in a row. Only adding to the pressure, the first game kicking the season off in a few weeks traditionally took place between them and Slytherin. Without Jomfru, they didn't stand a chance. The best Murderface could do in order to avoid complete embarrassment in front of the entire school was bend his abilities toward knocking those sacks of rubbish off their brooms.

“What're you all staring at me for?” Nathan asked when the crowd hushed with their presence. “Get in the air. Let's see what you're made of.”

While they all took off at a scramble, Nathan kicked open the chest holding the game equipment. The Bludgers immediately fought against their restraints, and the Snitch's tiny wings quivered. “You too, Murderface and Knubbler. Knock as many out as you can.”

Mere seconds after wind rustled Murderface's wiry hair, a Bludger streaked past his ear. The number of inexperienced fliers plaguing the air made deking an all-consuming affair. Having not played all summer, thanks to spending the holidays with his Muggle grandparents, Murderface's aim needed some warm-up in thinning them out. A triumphant laugh escaped when a Bludger he sent in direction of some little kid hit them right in the stomach. They careened toward the ground, only saved from broken limbs by Rachel slowing them with a quick spell.

In hoards at first the new Seeker was narrowed down. Then, one-by-one, those with mere luck on their sides disappeared as their lacking experience caught up. With only a handful searching for glints of gold among the dying autumn drabness, prospects seemed only marginally better. Gaining a position on their team would take more than hiding out from the worst Murderface and Knubbler could throw their way. Until someone came up with the Snitch, no one—

“Got it!” an excited voice cut through the air. On the opposite end of the pitch where Murderface cruised, some little squirt of a boy rounded the set of hoops with the small, gold ball clutched in his fingers. With Nathan calling everyone back down, Murderface switched his bat out for his wand in order to stun the nearest Bludger and return it to its resting place.

“What's your name?” Nathan asked the kid when they convened on the ground, then snarled. “You're not even a Gryffindor!”

“I'm in Hufflepuffs, but not really.” Wide, pale blue eyes gazed back at Nathan above an excited grin. “Professor Meaddle saids I'm allowed to try out for whatever team I wanteds to. So I tried out for _all_ of them!”

Murderface never considered the rules regarding school sports and exchange students, but Nathan seemed to go with it anyway. “Hm, whatever then. I've seen you around with, uh. . .those Ravenclaws.”

Coming up behind Nathan, Murderface leaned into his ear. “Scheriouschly? He'sch a pipschqueak! You're only thinking about letting him on the team becausche he'sch friendsch with Abigail!”

“I'm letting him on the team because he's a fast little goofball and he caught the Snitch.”

“Dumb luck! If he'sch scho good, make him catch the Schnitch again!”

Without the Bludgers in the air, it took around twenty minutes for Toki to return with the glinting ball trapped between his fingers. Smiling widely at his accomplishment after the rest of the team backed up Nathan's choice, Toki hugged the only seemingly-warm member. Rachel fed him the same general variety of encouragement as she did Murderface, making him feel ill to his stomach.

“What now?” Twinkletits asked. “Is that it? Is this all over?”

Nathan shrugged. “We're all down here, might as well have a practice.”

On the way back up to Hogwarts afterward, Murderface grumbled and kicked rocks out of his way beside Nathan. “I can't believe thisch. If Schlytherin schlaughtersch usch, I'm holding you perschonally reschponschible. Thisch might be the worst year Gryffindor'sch had schinsche Jimmy Peaksch wasch Captain.”

*

Word travelled quickly around Hogwarts that Gryffindor adopted one of the Durmstrang students onto their team. Well, first everyone naturally puzzled over how the hell a Hufflepuff landed there, but once that confusion cleared up it was all on Toki to answer to the house that hosted him during his stay. Murderface looked forward to what would come, should Gryffindor flatten Hufflepuff come March.

Perhaps showing greater glee than anyone else in the castle was Seth. Murderface heard his stupid guffawing well before receiving a light zap to the back of the head, thanks to being poked by a wand. “Hey Murderface, got yourself a new little Seeker, huh? Couldn't find no one worth puttin' on a broom in your own house? Heh.”

“Fuck off, Scheth.” Murderface smoothed his hair where it reached for the ceiling. “It ischn't me you schould be bugging, it'sch Nathan. I'm not Captain.”

“Heh, why would Stampington make you Captain, huh?” Seth rounded Murderface, halting his advance. Just Murderface's luck, that he happened to get caught up in a stream of seventh year Slytherins. Curious as to what the most slippery snake amongst them might possibly do, most stopped to watch. “Even if you could come up with a couple good plays, not like anyone would understand what you're sayin'. Heh.”

“What the hell are you talking—? Oh.” Murderface narrowed his eyes as a few titters came from the crowd. “You're talking about my lischp. Aren't you scho original.”

“Yeah, I mean, what's the big fuckin' deal, you know? Go on, do it. Make an 's' sound.”

“Fuck you,” Murderface said instead.

“Heh. Potty mouth! Maybe I ought to clean it up for you—”

“Maybe you ought to move along before I punch you in the face.” Nathan stepped between them. Eye-level with Seth, he had a better chance of forcing him to stand down.

“I think you already did.” Seth covered his nose while grinning. “See you on the pitch, Gryffindorks. Or smell ya later anyway, heh.”

“Don't listen to that piece of garbage,” Nathan told Murderface after they waded through all the Slytherins. “Who cares if he's. . .you know, popular? Seeker, Captain of a Quidditch team. . .huh. What a dick, anyway.”

That did nothing to make Murderface feel better, completely backfiring. “Whatever. I'll juscht make schure I get him really good with a Bludger. And Toki had better have hisch head in the game. If Scheth getsch the Schnitch firscht, I will literally throw myschelf in the lake.”

“Don't be so dramatic. He's doing good in practice. Just have faith in the little guy.”

Have faith, all right. Nathan immediately earned the benefits of affiliating himself with Toki, at least as far as opportunity to get near Abigail went. Murderface got a cruel sense of satisfaction from the fact that, should Nathan really _have_ brought Toki onto the team in order to woo her, his little scheme failed.

The days counting down toward the first Quidditch match of the year left Murderface's stomach increasingly upset. When Saturday arrived with overcast skies, minimal wind, and no precipitation to speak of, he pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Beyond the Gryffindor change room, where he sat limply in his scarlet and gold uniform, the hoards of spectators filed into the stands. Everyone expressed nerves in their own way, all but Toki, who seemed happier than ever. That more than anything worried Murderface, for what if he didn't take this as seriously as the rest of them? Did he not know what was at stake, should Gryffindor house bow to Slytherin? Maybe Toki would bring some sort of honour to Hufflepuff house by throwing the game, although no sane Hufflepuff would love to see Slytherin come out on top. Nathan, Murderface, and their fellow Chasers, Beater, and Keeper would experience one hell of a shaming from their own house.

“Remember what I said about speeches?” Nathan asked everyone, to which they nodded. “Pretend that again. We're gonna kick ass and hang these Slytherins out to dry.”

The roaring crowds swelled Murderface's nausea as they departed for the pitch, before his usual excitement took over. The commentator, who'd been as such for at least the two years Murderface was on the team, had a knack for pulling that out of everybody involved. His voice already grew raspy.

“Aaaare you guys ready to watch some Quidditch? I can't hear you, I said are yoooou ready—?”

The crowd swelled as Gryffindor team stepped out into the sunlight. Toki waved excitedly at the crowd, enjoying his fifteen minutes of celebrity, while the Slytherin sections sent out their usual boos and strictly polite applause. On the other end of the field, seven figures stood clad in green and silver. Seth leaned on his broomstick in the centre, brow heavy and smirk wide.

Beater bat already taking anticipatory aim, Murderface stood at the ready with his broomstick. As soon as the whistle sounded, he rose as quickly as his Thunderbolt IV would take him. He wobbled slightly when above the action, where Nathan and Rebecca passed the Quaffle back and forth. Already, after deflecting a couple Bludgers toward where Seth cruised above the stadium, an announcement came through the speakers regarding the first goal scored.

“. . .And Kixx misses it! Slytherin in position now, Succuboso streaking down the field with her teammates in the dust—interference by Explosion—and the ref is calling foul. . .”

Cheering from the majority of the stands confused Murderface initially, but after performing a Doppelbeater Defence with Knubbler in hopes to give Toki a leg-up on Seth, mention of Blatching as committed simultaneously by Slytherin's Beaters cleared that up. The next few times Murderface came into contact with Bludgers, he aimed that at Fjordslorn and Cornickelson as added injury to the goal Nathan scored.

“What do you think's taking so long?” Knubbler's nasally voice cut through the wind blowing past Murderface's ears. He didn't need to mention Toki for the reference to be understood.

“Dunno.” If they weren't in the middle of a game, Murderface wouldn't mind passing Toki by and offering gentle reminder to hurry the hell up. He also wouldn't mind complaining a little on their new Seeker's lack of efficiency, but didn't wish to somehow drain team morale. Losing to Ravenclaw a couple Mays ago from that still burned a little.

With the score resting at 120-30 in Gryffindor's favour, it at least seemed plausible that, given their Chasers' exceptional gameplay, it wouldn't matter in the end _who_ caught the Snitch. Still, Murderface's heart plunged when, out of the corner of his eye, Toki went streaking along near the Slytherin end of the field. Unable to stop and watch due to his own preoccupation, the wait for the match's end to be called went thwarted. Confused, Murderface looked around for Toki.

Next time their paths crossed, he shouted, “what happened?”

Toki shrugged, face long with concern. “Lost it. I keeps trying.”

It didn't matter; not long after, Seth took a deep dive after a speck of gold. Collectively, the groan that washed through the crowd too passed Murderface's lungs. The final score was 180-140. . .for Slytherin.

Murderface hit the field pretty hard, fatigued from the effort he put in. While he, Nathan, Rachel, Rebecca, Twinkletits, and Knubbler rallied beneath their goalposts, Toki floated toward the ground at a distance and attempted to slink away with slumped shoulders.

“Hey,” Nathan called out to him. “Get over here.”

The same long face Murderface experienced in the air greeted them all. “I'm really sorry I lets you all down, pals. I thought you wouldn't want to see old Toki.”

“Shut up.” Nathan put an arm around his shoulders. “You did great. Tried your best, all that shit. We're still in good standing, so all we need to do is kick some Badger and Raven ass, and that Cup is ours.”

“Heh. Think again, Gyffindorks.” Seth approached, hairline sweaty and girlfriend Amber on his arm. “Don't have any advantage over an Accio charm, heh.”

“What doesch that mean?” Familiar with the spell, Murderface advanced. “You cheated! You fucking asschole, you fucking cheated! I want a rematch! Where'sch Professchor Meaddle?”

“Give it a rest.” Cornickelson came up behind Seth, followed not far by Fjordslorn. “How can you ever prove it? No wands allowed on the field.”

“Wandlessch magic! He can do it, the schlithery little schnake—!”

“It's your word against his.” Cornickelson raised a hand, as if shielding himself from precipitation. “And really, who could understand _yours_ , anyway?”

His teammates had the chance to emit less than three beats of laughter before a thick fist to the face landed Cornickelson flat on his back. Nathan stood over him, face drawn into a deep sneer. “Don't you _ever_ make fun of him for his lisp again, you got it? I will find you, and I will beat you to a pulp. You hear me?”

“You'll regret that!” Cornickelson shouted back, wiping blood onto his sleeve. “My father will hear all about this!”

“Tell him you're a sack of shit while you're at it, too!”

“All right, what the hell's going on over here?” Crozier grumbled as he approached. Flitting gaze over Cornickelson's bleeding nose and Nathan's bruising knuckles gave the situation away before Seth could tattle to the head of his house. “This looks like fifty points from Gryffindor and detention on every Saturday until Christmas holidays, Explosion.”

“Your piece-of-schit housche cheated!” Murderface attempted. “Scheth admitted it! He usched the Accio charm to get the Schnitch out of Toki'sch schight!”

“Do you have any evidence?” Crozier's deadpan response assured Murderface he truly didn't care. Without any such thing, what would even Stampington or Meaddle do about it?

“Bullshit,” Nathan muttered, rubbing his knuckles as the Slytherins took their leave. “Whatever. That was worth it, punching him.”

“We still lost the game,” Knubbler needlessly reminded everyone.

“That asshole will get his,” Nathan asserted as they headed toward the change room. “I swear, he'll get his.” 


	4. Chapter 4

“Pickles, a word?”

Pickles was on his way from an easy and kind of dull Potions class from professor Hammersmith in the dungeons. Charles caught up to him with hurried steps before he could reach the Great Hall.

“Dood, I’m gonna grab lunch first, I’m fuckin’ starvin’. ‘N can we make it quick? I got Divination from Ravenswood after, so I’m gonna induce a food coma and sleep my way through that.”

“I’m afraid not, Pickles. This is a matter of some importance. But we can talk while you, ah, eat.” Charles sat down opposite him at the long Hufflepuff table and poured himself some pumpkin juice. He waited until Pickles had piled his plate high before leaning forward. “Your brother is getting increasingly cumbersome. He openly cheats at Quidditch and gets away with it, attempts to extort everyone who stands still long enough and bullies other students.  It’s as if the teachers have a, ah, blind spot for his behaviour - no one is sticking out a finger. We need to do something about this situation.”

“Yew tell me. My parents are the same. But Charlie, yew remember how it went last time we tried to have him expelled, don’t ye?” Pickles still recalled their backfiring scheme vividly.

“I do, but I also learned from last time. I say we raise the stakes and aim higher. Think of how satisfying it would be to see him disappear for a couple of years, rather than the, ah, remaining school year.” Charles’ impeccable appearance barely covered for the dangerous glint in his eyes.

“I’m listening.” Pickles admitted reluctantly.

“Maybe you haven’t noticed his hot breath in your neck because I put every effort towards keeping him off your scent for the sake of Hufflepuff’s chances at the House Cup-”

“Dood! I thought it was because we’re friends.”

“It’s starting to become a, ah, full-time job.” Charles pointed out. “Besides, he’s also taken an interest in whatever Toki gets up to when he visits Rockstein since Toki joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Seth is drawn to illegal activities like a vulture to fresh carcasses, and I think we can use that to our advantage if we, ah, play it smart.”

“So what’s yer play?” Pickles asked around a mouthful of bread.

“An island far away meant for people like him.” Offdensen said in measured tones.

“Australia?”

“Azkaban.”

“Azkaban,” Pickles repeated wistfully. He appraised Charles’ dead serious green eyes behind his spectacles. Offdensen meant business. “I like yer thinkin’. But how are we gonna make sure _we_ don’t end up in Azkaban in his stead?”

“We’re using different bait than ourselves this time. Bait with diplomatic immunity.” Charles said with a small smile.

“Hey pals!” Little Toki plopped down in the seat next to Offdensen. His blue knitted hat clashed with his loose Hufflepuff tie, and he wasn’t wearing the grey spencer under his open robes because he was perpetually warm. “Whats are you guys talking about?” He began stuffing pieces of chicken into his mouth.

“About Pickles’ brother, ah, Seth.” Charles said truthfully. “It was rather unfair how he cheated Gryffindor out of their victory, wasn’t it?”

Pickles knew Offdensen was less than pleased that Toki had wriggled his way into the position of Gryffindor seeker, but so far it had not proved too much of a threat to the House Points, so he had let it slide. However, his reasonable, friendly tone suggested he was grooming the exchange student as the aforementioned bait.

“Yeah, whats an asshole!” Toki exclaimed. “If I ever gets him alone in the woods, I’m going to Avada Kedavra  the tops of his head off!” He demonstratively whipped out his wand and held it aloft, his boyish face shining with sadistic glee.

Charles shot up from the bench and pushed Toki’s wand out of sight. “Toki!” He hissed. “I’ll thank you not to mention the Unforgivable Curses here.” He tempered his tone a little. “Remember, we have different rules here at Hogwarts.”  

“Sorry, I try to remembers.”

“Good.” Offdensen exchanged a glance with Pickles. “Say, Toki, would you have time for a new pet, now that your dragon is gone?”

“Oh, yeah, I woulds!” Toki squeaked, sitting up. “But I don’t got no monies.” He slumped at the realisation.

Offdensen nudged Pickles’ leg with his the toe of his shoe under the table.

“Heuh, yeah. Ye know what Toki?” Pickles got the hint. “I’ll get ye a new pet for standin’ up to my brother and savin’ my ass. You just think about what you want-”

“A lenthifold, or an acromantula,” Charles suggested slyly. “Or a basilisk… As long as you know someone who can supply it, we’ll arrange the legal documents to import it.”

“Oh, I knows a guy whats got me my Thestral too! I’ll send him an owl.” Toki grinned excitedly.

“Excellent,” Charles said, and Pickles nodded his agreement. “Write your letter and we’ll, ah, take it to the Owlery. Pickles has Divination anyway.” He handed Toki his quill and a piece of parchment.

With the tip of his tongue between his teeth, Toki penned a careful letter in Norwegian and addressed it. He slid the parchment and the quill back across the table and drained his pumpkin juice.

“Thanks you, pals! I gots to run – Transfiguration!” He shouldered his bag. I hope the Prof turns herself into a cats again, that was awesome!”

“Have fun, Toki!” Pickles waved.

“Study hard,” said Charles. “Ask her about Animagi – that sounds like something you might be interested in.” As soon as Toki left the Great Hall, he pulled a frumpy piece of vellum out of his pocket, with what appeared to be Seth’s sparse Charms notes on it. “I came prepared.” He said at Pickles’ raised eyebrows.

Offdensen waved his wand and muttered a series of incantations over the two bits of parchment, and Pickles watched how Toki’s Norwegian chicken scratch rearranged itself into English – in Seth’s handwriting.

“I’m seeing a Special Award for Services to the School in your future, Charlie,” Pickles said appreciatively. “Or to the human race, for that matter, if you manage to pull this off.”

Charles smiled a demure smile. “I trust you know which Owl belongs to Seth?”

Offdensen accompanied him to the Owlery, and Pickles wondered vaguely whether he wanted to be in control of every aspect of the plan or whether he had nothing better to do at the moment.

Seth’s barn owl took some convincing to get down from the rafters for Pickles and nearly crapped on Offdensen in the process, but the dingy bird eventually allowed them to tie a letter to its scaly leg.

“There ye gooo, buddy!” Pickles threw the owl from the arched window. “Off to Norway with ye.”

“You’d better hurry on to Divination.” Charles said sternly, though amusement flickered across his face when he returned Pickles’ high five. “Try not to lose us any more points by being late.”

“Lighten up, Charlie. Operation Frame Seth is in motion. This is going to be good.”

***

Pickles woke with a start when the rest of the students filed out of Ravenwood’s dark Divination classroom. There was a major flaw in their plan that neither he nor Charles had thought of before they involved Toki in their plan: the third-year was a huge tattle-tale. He would probably be running his mouth to everyone who stood still long enough about how Pickles promised to buy him a dangerous and highly illegal pet.

Of course the mercurial kid was nowhere to be found; neither with Rockstein, nor in the Hufflepuff common room – not even in Charles’ company in the Great Hall. When Offdensen inquired after his harried expression, Pickles explained their predicament. Charles pressed his lips into a thin line.

“How about those, ah, Ravenclaws he hangs out with?” He suggested. “I often see Toki in their company in the library, and rumour has it he sometimes follows them to their common room. If that is the case… Well, let’s check the, ah, library first.”

The library came up empty, even the restricted section, where Offdensen had had to extract Toki from a book on prohibited curses once before. They decided to sweep the Hufflepuff dormitories once more, but a changing staircase landed them on the other end of the castle.

“C’mon Charlie, think of somethin’ clever. Don’t ye know a spell to sweep the castle for that lil’ guy without us havin’ to chase our tails?” Pickles panted on the landing of the offending stairs.

Offdensen thought for a moment, his eyes un-focusing behind his square glasses. When he cast his gaze about, it landed on the portrait wall behind Pickles.

“Pretend you did not see this.” Charles requested curtly. He turned to a portrait of a redheaded man in dress-robes. “I’m looking for a third-year in Hufflepuff robes and a blue knitted hat. Shoulder-length hair, possibly trailing animals or, ah, magical creatures… Could you alert the rest of my network that I’m on the lookout?”

The man in the portrait nodded once and walked out of the frame.

“Let’s be on our way.” Offdensen marched down the corridor in search of the second-fastest way back to the Hufflepuff common room.

Pickles followed his lead. No wonder he had been chosen Head Boy. He was competent to the point of creepiness. Pickles doubted anyone but the Headmaster commanded a network of spying portraits in this castle. Two staircases and a corridor later, a female veteran of the Second Wizarding War cautiously called out to Charles that the portrait network had located Toki in an empty classroom in the west wing, in the company of his Ravenclaw friends.

Perhaps there had been no need for their panic, since Toki had been holed up in there since the end of his Transfiguration lesson. He seemed to be working on a project for the subject in question, because they were halfway into transforming a chair into a copy of the instrument Pickles had seen Skwigelf with before.

“That’s right, Tokis,” Skwigelf said, “once you change de basic elements, you can start givings it shape. Don’ts make it the same as mine. I don’ts want you to copies me.”

“Pff, I bet you woulds copies me once I’m done with this.” Toki sent him a sharp look over the rudimentary shape of a guitar. “Oh hey, pals!” Toki greeted Pickles and Offdensen cheerfully.

“Ey Toki, what have ye been up to? Charlie ‘n I were lookin’ for ye…”

“Abouts buying me a basilisk?”

Behind him, Skwigelf’s mouth fell open.”

“Yes, Toki, about that.” Charles said in clipped tones. “You’re not supposed to tell a soul about this. No people, no ghosts, no pets – ah, no one.”

“Okay!” Toki agreed in his accommodating manner.

“Swear an Unbreakable Vow to Pickles. Come here.” Offdensen did the incantation and made Toki repeat a watertight vow. Toki went along with it meek as a lamb, but Skwigelf still watched with an expression that hovered between wary and dumbstruck. “You, ah, could you come here for a second?” Charles beckoned the infamous Durmstrang student. “A little closer, ah, yes, that’s it. _Obliviate_!” He let out a restrained sigh.

“Yew don’t take half measures, do ye?” Pickles remarked.

“I do whatever is necessary.”

The classroom door opened.

“Hey boys, I brought a –” The beautiful Ravenclaw girl Abigail walked in with a metal cup in her hands. “Hi.” She said coolly. She did not simper in the company of boys like some girls her age, and her self-possession commanded a lot of respect. Pickles thought it made her wildly attractive.

“Hey Abigail, what’ve ye got there?” He sidled up to her.

“What does it look like?” She asked with light sarcasm, wedging herself in between Toki and Skwisgaar, who had bent themselves to Transfiguring the chair further. Examining the strings on Skwigelf’s guitar, she began transforming the metal cup into a set of strings and pickups.

“So Toki,” Skwigelf inquired critically, producing another guitar from his bag – who on earth carried multiple guitars around at school, Extension Charm or no, Pickles wondered – “You say you plays guitars, how come you didn’ts bring it?”

“I hads no room left with all my cats,” he gestured vaguely to his hair-covered robes, “and my baby dragons.”

“You haves a dragon?!” Skwisgaar shouted in Toki’s face. Pickles had never seen the stoic fifth-year so excited.

“Ja, I had to give it up, though.” Toki sighed regrettably. “They sent it off to Romania.”

“And you never tolds me?! You’s a dildo.” 

“How’s I supposed to know you’s into dragons when you sits here with you guitars all day like hur hur hurrr– Never goes outsides inn i den Forbudte Skogen…!”

“Det kallas den Förbjudna Skogen av en anledning...!”

The Durmstrang students dissolved into shouted accusations in their respective mother tongues.

“Pickles, shall we…?” Charles sent a pointed glance towards the door, reminding him that their plot was not nearly hatched to perfection. They still needed to work out a way to intercept Seth’s owl with the reply from Toki’s contact.

Pickles glanced over at where Abigail helped Toki mount the pickups, her curly hair springing around her face as she worked. 

“I’m kinda curious to see how that lil’ guy plays. I’m stayin’ a while.”

***

Ever since they could reasonably suspect Seth’s owl back from Norway, breakfasts were tense, and way too early in Pickles’ opinion. Even on Saturdays like today, Charles would haul Pickles out of bed for some pre-dawn bird watching. At this hour, the Great Hall was still illuminated by candles, since the ceiling reflected the dark, overcast skies outside. Fluttering among the rafters announced the arrival of the post. They scanned the flock for a ragged barn owl to intercept as birds of all sorts dropped letters, Daily Prophets and the occasional Howler. Movement at the doors of the Great Hall caught Pickles’ eyes for a moment. Abigail, Skwisgaar and Toki sauntered in, while yawns passed back and forth between them. Judging by Skwisgaar and Toki’s bleary eyes, they had been up playing guitar all night. Come to think of it, he had not even seen Toki return to the Hufflepuff common room before curfew.

People called Toki the Boy of All Houses these days – though he had yet to infiltrate Slytherin like he had the other Houses – and apparently he was starting to dress like it. Underneath his Hufflepuff robes he wore a Ravenclaw spencer he must have filched from either Skwisgaar or Abigail, which clashed horribly with the Gryffindor tie someone on his Quidditch team must have left lying around.  

“Ehm, Pickles,” said Charles’ dry, nasal voice. “You might want to open that.”

“Shit,” Pickles twitched at the sight of the red envelope. “Not another one.” He opened it with a resigned sigh to avoid the escalation of an explosion on top of yelling.

“PICKLES!” His mother’s infuriating, sharp voice shrilled through the vaulted space. “WHAT do we hear from yer brother now?! Have yer father ‘n I taught ye nothin’ aboot sharin’ with yer family?! Yer a selfish, greedy kid. Git yer life together and take exehmple from Seth! He’s captain of the Quidditch team –”

“You belong in a garbage can,” his father’s voice cut in, and Pickles’ humiliation was complete. He rose from the bench and shouted back at the Howler.

“I belong in a garbage can?! Yew belong in a garbage can! Ye piece of –”

“Pickles, please sit down.” Offdensen urged. “Think of the plan and stop making a scene. How can we intercept your brother’s owl if every pair of eyes in the, ah, Hall is on you? Actually,” he changed his mind when something caught his eye, “that is pretty excellent.  Leave the bird to me.”

Still fuming, Pickles let the onslaught of his parents’ disapproval wash over him so Charles could intercept the barn owl headed for the Slytherin table with a quick spell.

 Charles quickly replaced the letter with a dead mouse so the struggling owl would have something innocuous to carry to Seth. He patted Pickles on the shoulder with a dry cough.

“There there. Just… think of Seth in Azkaban. Let’s see how many letters he can write to your parents when he’s, ah, being drained of life and powers by the Dementors.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if that slippery snake would still manage to turn the tables on us. He’s a cockroach.”

“A little faith, Pickles.”

“Alright, Chief. I trust ye.” Pickles sighed. “What does the letter say?”

“Excellent news,” Charles said. His tone could almost be called gleeful, when applied to anyone else. “… for the right amount, he may or may not have a Chimaera egg. That’s a, ah, Class A Non-Tradable Material. If we frame Seth with one of those in his possession…”

“…it’s Azkaban for sure.”

“For a nice little while, too.” 

They shared a tense little nod. The stakes were high, with what they had to shell out for the Chimaera egg, but if it landed Seth behind bars, it would be more than worth it. Pickles could rebuild his accumulated little fortune by conceiving and concocting more of his innovative, ‘medicinal’ potions.

Who cared what his parents thought. The only reason he still had contact with them was because it was a cheap place to stay for the summer. Whether he succeeded in ruining Seth or not, he promised himself he was not going back to that place. 

“Oh boy, your mom sounds real means, Pickle!” Toki said sympathetically when he plopped down on the bench. “Mine is, too, but at least she don’t talks!” Toki enveloped him in a surprisingly strong hug for a thirteen year-old.

“Ja, Pickle,” Skwisgaar butted in with his lazy drawl, “you should goes tells your mothers to go fucks herself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by BrutalWarelf


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by nursehelena.

Nathan reached the Entrance Hall with about five minutes to spare before eight o'clock, when his third detention was determined to start. He couldn't decide if he'd rather continue working at his Transfiguration homework or postpone it in favour of this. Following around whom the students colloquially referred to as the Cryptkeeper (thanks to his apparent resemblance to some Muggle television character) wasn't exactly Nathan's idea of a good time.

Right at the top of the hour, shuffling could be heard from the corridor leading down toward the dungeons. A buffalo-humped, wispy-haired relic of a wizard shuffled along in his direction. “Evening, Mr. Explosion.”

“Mhm,” Nathan grumbled. Anticipating that yet again he'd traverse all the outdoor paths of Hogwarts, blasting away snow and ice, he took a step toward the exit. However, the Cryptkeeper stopped him.

“Now hold on, we're waiting for a second student.” The man's walled eyes briefly focused following a blink. “He's late.”

Figuring he'd find out sooner than later who he'd spend the evening with, Nathan shrugged rather than ask. It was nearly quarter after when a boy pulled up the rear behind where the Cryptkeeper had emerged from. Red hair clashed with his yellow and black tie.

“Mr. Pickles.” The Cryptkeeper greeted him with a hint of amusement. “A little ironic, isn't it, that you arrive late to your punishment?”

“I prefer to call it poetic. Heh.” Pickles, jarring Nathan's memory as a sixth year and good friend of Toki's, nudged him. “So whet're we doin'? Hallway patrol?”

“Not quite. . .” With a surreptitious glance around, the Cryptkeeper gestured them closer. “A Thestral has wandered into the castle. Normally this would be something the staff takes care of, but this one is relatively mild-mannered. Here.”

“Whet is thet? Leftover steak from dinner? Ugh. . .” Pickles held the raw meat up between his thumb and forefinger. The excess blood dripped quietly onto the floor. “Whet the heck's a Thestral?”

“An invisible horse,” Nathan answered, assuming that Pickles couldn't see them either. He'd learned about them through his fascination with dark and dangerous creatures, searching through text after text in the library for the most brutal sketches to their liking. “They're attracted to the smell of blood.”

“Dood, I don' wanna be lurkin' around the castle lookin' for somethin' I can't see.” Pickles held his steak back out to the Cryptkeeper. “Here, _you_ do it. I'd rather try to talk Peeves outta droppin' Dungbombs downstairs.”

“No, this is your punishment.” The Cryptkeeper held his hands up, absolving personal responsibility. “You must find the Thestral, and put it back out to feed. Let it have these slabs of meat as a snack.”

“Yer sending us after a _hungry_ Thestral?” Pickles' eyes widened. “I dunno about you, but I got a lot of blood in my body thet it'd probably like to drink!”

“I repeat, this particular creature is tame. It will only attack you if you tease it mercilessly. Now, it's probably already locked onto the scent of this meat, and although it has an excellent sense of direction, it seems drawn to somewhere beyond the kitchens.”

“How will we know when we've found it, exactly?” Pickles asked. “And whet the heck're we supposed to do, when thet happens?”

“It should do as you command, once it's fed. Lead it out.”

“And how're we gonna know we didn' lose it again? Clapping hooves?”

“Rustling wings, more likely.”

They grew silent for a moment; the puddle of blood at Nathan's feet pooled in the stone's cracks.

“Yer helpin' us, reet?”

The Cryptkeeper shook his head. “Apparently, I'm going downstairs to tell Peeves to stop dropping Dungbombs.”

Nathan and Pickles watched him shuffle off. As soon as he disappeared, Pickles sighed. “Well, I dunno about you, but I say screw it to detention 'n' let's bugger off somewhere.”

“Not me.” Nathan took a step toward the staircase. “I want to see it. Well, I can't _see_ it, but these things are pretty cool.”

“An invisible horse attracted to blood. Thet's cool, to you?” Regardless, Pickles followed suit and fell into step beside Nathan. One of them keeping calm in the chore seemed to do the trick, although Nathan had no idea what their reputation would be once anyone spotted them carrying these raw steaks around—let alone if they were spotted trying to coax something that might not really be there.

For now, the corridors seemed orderly and Thestral-free. Walking together with nothing to draw their attention away compelled Pickles to clear his throat. “So, how'd ye land here, anyway?”

“Punched somebody.”

“Ohh, right! The Quidditch match, heh.” Pickles grinned. “Good on ye, okee? Feckin' hate thet douchebag. He ain't no better than my brother.”

“Who's your brother?”

“Thet douchebag Seth.”

Nathan sneered. “I didn't think he had any siblings.”

“Naht by choice, I kin tell ye thet much. Don't y'ever hear those Howlers thet come through the Great Hall once in a while?” Pickles slumped with a sullen expression. “They're usually mine.”

“Tough luck, bro. Maybe I should've punched Seth too. Made detention _really_ worth it. Not like it wasn't already, I guess. . .”

“I ken't wait until Seth ain't around anymore.”

“The next two years here without are gonna be nice, gotta admit.”

“Heh. . .yeeuh. Couple more years. Sure.”

The higher they climbed in the castle, the less students they ran into. Naturally, traffic steadied near the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers' entrances, but as ten o'clock passed with no sign of the beast they sought, Nathan began to wonder if maybe it found its own way out. Another possibility, perhaps it tucked in for the night. That didn't make much sense though, for something nocturnal and lacking in a good meal. How did something like that eat, anyway? The visible ribs and generally bony structure made it look destined to starve.

“Uhh. . .Nate?” Distracted by his wandering mind, Nathan filed away the swish of something leathery to the back of his mind. Pickles came to a halt and peered around as though afraid to move. “I think I just felt somethin' rub up against me.

“Nyeeeh!” Pickles jumped when an invisible force tugged on the steak hanging from his stiff hand, then jumped again when the back of his head made contact with something. A snort and impatient clap against the floor sent Pickles off at a sprint. He dropped his steak onto the floor. Nathan watched as it wiggled, then began to disappear in lieu of chewing sounds and a swallow.

“Pickles, come back!” Nathan called after him. Creating a mental image of where exactly the Thestral stood, he too kept his distance for the moment. Pickles paced back and forth at the end of the corridor, cursing under his breath and attempting to flatten his wayward hair. “I think it's safe.”

“Famous last werds, dood.”

Nathan tossed his steak onto the floor when Pickles' disappeared, watching as first the meat vanished and then whatever juices could be lapped up. When only a ghost of the meal remained, Pickles had returned. He still put Nathan between himself and the Thestral.

“Okee, so whet now?” he asked. “We gahtta get it out of here, reet? Hey Thestral, dood, head for the Entrance Hall. Ehh, now. Please. Now.”

The Thestral didn't respond, as far as Nathan could tell. He reached out for the creature, ignoring Pickles' warning that he might lose a finger or two if it confused contact with an offering. No nip came, though; instead, he pet a leathery smooth muzzle. He wished he could see it. “Come on. Let's get you out of here.”

“Is it movin' yet?” Pickles asked after a moment.

“No.” Nathan scratched his head. “Maybe I'll wait here with it, if you want to go find the Cryptkeeper or Rockstein?”

“Ehh, Toki's probably closer. He might know somethin' we don't.”

So it turned out. Toki's face lit up when he and Pickles returned. “Hey, look who gots inside! He always was sneaky. . .”

“Whet're you talkin' about? Is this one yours? How kin you tell?”

“The markings.” Toki lovingly pet along the Thestral's side. “I thoughts as soon as you said he wouldn't listen that it mights be Hestkuk. He only answers to Norwegian.”

“Hest-what, now?”

“Ugh, my stupids friend Ronke at Durmstrang calleds him that.” Toki rolled his eyes after getting the creature moving in his mother tongue. “Was all it took, and now this guy won'ts answer to anything else.”

*

It was only a matter of time, between Quidditch practice and spotting Toki between classes, that Nathan became classified as 'pal'. Milking that for all it was worth, Nathan took the opportunity to finally attempt proximity to Abigail.

After getting out of the shower in his dormitory, Nathan applied the extra-extra strength deodorant he'd found in Hogsmeade during his last visit. It seemed to do the trick, if narrowing berths surrounding him in the corridors were anything to judge by. He wiped some fog off the mirror, leaned over the sink, and stared at himself.

“All right. . .” His voice echoed off the walls. “I suck just as much at pep-talks as I do speeches. Let's just pretend I said something really awesome that's going to kick our ass into gear. Let's get the girl.”

Nathan packed his bag to full capacity with books, then set off for the classroom Toki gave iffy and confusing directions to. Although there wasn't a set time to meet, Nathan wanted as much opportunity as possible to be in Abigail's presence. His palms sweat as he found the appropriate corridor, for what if he screwed this up and had to stew in awkwardness until finally he gathered the balls to escape? No. He couldn't think like that. This would go fine. He'd act naturally with Abigail, prove himself as more than the dildo that lost capability of speech whenever she was around, and this ball would finally get rolling.

More than Toki and Abigail sat in the empty classroom—something Nathan surely should've expected. Toki probably put out an open invitation to whoever wished to come, although it made Nathan feel better to see that the three occupants other than Toki consisted of his closest friends. Actually, no. . .it made him feel strange. Why exactly was he invited here? Sure, he and Toki had Quidditch practice together three times a week and Toki chatted at him the entire way to and from the castle, but did that qualify him to sit amongst this crowd? The only other one he had any sort of tangible history with was Pickles who, after their shared detention, Nathan slipped into what he would call a very easy friendship. Pickles' laid-back attitude made Nathan figure that, had they belonged to the same year, they probably would've become as attached-at-the-hip as friends from different houses could be.

Skwigelf. . .Nathan had only spoken to once. It wasn't one of his shining moments, which ensured he never approached him again. Thankfully too, they'd avoided being partnered off in Charms, which Gryffindor and Ravenclaw took together. When their gazes met, a curt nod was the extent of their greeting.

“Nathan, you mades it!” Toki pulled the chair out beside him expectantly. “We were just wondering if you gots lost!”

“Little bit,” he mumbled, aware that Abigail listened closely despite not having turned around to look at him since his initial arrival. Thank God Pickles had something worth discussing, since Toki immediately went back to whatever he and Skwigelf preoccupied themselves with. Although curious about the instruments strewn across the room, Nathan didn't feel it was his place to inquire.

“You said you knew a bunch of stuff about magical creatures, reet?” Pickles asked, leaning over a book Nathan recognized as one he'd consulted numerous times during his years here. In fact, as Pickles leafed through the pages, Nathan recognized some of the greasy fingerprints on the pages' edges as his own. “I'm tryin' to research for a paper, 'n' I ain't havin' much luck.”

“What kind of creature?”

“Chimaeras.”

Nathan's eyes lit up; chimaeras were in his top three, as far as merit for fascination went. “What do you need to know?”

“Ehh. . .” Pickles studied him from the corner of his eyes. “Whatcha know?”

“Native to Greece, 5-X classification, very big and violent. They have a lion's head, goat's body, and a dragon tail. Only one wizard's ever managed to defeat one. They're mostly kept further north, since their speed and temperament cools down. There's three sanctuaries around the world: north of Yakutsk in Russia, by Tuktoyaktuk in Canada, and then on the island of Svalbard in Norway.” Nathan shrugged off his bag. “If you ever want to read something really in-depth about them, there's this book in the Restricted Section. Don't even ask me how I got a note to take it out, but it's a detailed journal done by a guy that spent ten years looking for a chimaera, then thirty trying to train the thing before it finally got loose and killed him.”

“See, now dat is really cools,” Skwisgaar piped up from where he and Toki listened in. “Dat's de kind of t'ing I would want to make music about. Not Cauldrons of Love or anyt'ing like dat. Is weird, ever since Voldemort finally got killed, people still shy away about dese kind of t'ing. You can't ignore dat it exist, and talking about dem makes dem less scary, in my opinion.”

“Are you in a band?” Nathan asked. Although too shy to participate, he was still very familiar with the metal scene, both in and out of the Wizarding World.

“No. . .” Skwisgaar absently tuned his instrument. “I've been in pretty much ever band dat ever existed, in Durmstrang. Dat is. . .very absent here, at Hogwarts. De metal scene, I mean.”

“Drier than, uh. . .” Nathan trailed off with a glance at Abigail, who concentrated steadfastly on whatever her quill whipped through. “Never mind. Yeah. It's dry. It's acceptable to touch anything in distant-enough history that was kind of bloody, so long as it's done humorously and with an upbeat tone. Can't touch Voldemort, can't touch Hogwarts being destroyed in the War. . .”

“Why would you _want_ to?” Abigail lifted her head.

“Why _wouldn't_ you?” is all Nathan could come with as answer. His insides flushed cold at her unimpressed expression. “I mean. . .wouldn't be glorifying it, or anything. It's just strange to me, that such brutal things wouldn't have the right music to complement it. Why would you try to make it funny? Or ignore it for what it is? I mean, people were killed. They sacrificed themselves. If you want to do the history justice, you need to give it the right sound. If I got up in front of a bunch of people and I was going to perform something like that, I'd want them to feel the same fear and dread that the people that fought those wars did.”

Intrigued, Abigail leaned forward on her elbow. “Hm.”

Not entirely sure how to handle finally obtaining her attention, not to mention saying something to her that _wasn't_ completely ridiculous or stupid, Nathan cleared his throat and turned back to Pickles. “Anyway, uh. . .what were you asking about?”

“Chimaeras, dood. What else ya know about them? And any chance you could sneak me into the Restricted Section to get thet book?”

Agreeing to give it a decent shot, Nathan brought out his own homework. Since Toki and Skwisgaar still messed around with their instruments and Pickles got so easily distracted, that left Nathan and Abigail on their lonesome to quietly toil away. Nathan's insides squirmed, even though the situation was comfortable at face value. Gauging each other's presence was easier, in silence. Or maybe she hated his guts and wished he'd leave, who knew?

When Nathan left later, footsteps pulling up the rear made his heart skip a beat. However, instead of Abigail, Skwigelf fell in beside. “So, you know more about metal dan anyone I've met so far here. Except maybe Pickle. I haven't gotten far enough into it wit' him to knows for sure.”

“Oh?”

“Do you play any instruments?”

“No. . .sorry. I could probably do vocals. I'm used to yelling a lot, from playing Quidditch.”

“How are you wit' writing? Maybe we should try to put somet'ing together sometime, and see what we comes up wit'.” Skwisgaar lifted his chin. “You know a lot about t'ings dat are dark, in de world. Is good. Maybe if we make somet'ing wort' listening to, de Wizarding World will see dat dark interest don't mean you have to be a dark wizard.”

“Sounds like a long shot, to me.”

Skwigelf laughed, then fell immediately silent when giggles cut into it. “Ugh. . .alreadies? Anyway, so Toki and I play de guitar, Pickle does too but he said he's been picking up de drums. Know anyone else dat might be interested? We need a bassist.”

“Nah,” Nathan said after a moment of thought. “I'll keep my eyes and ears open, though.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by nursehelena.

When the sign-up sheet to stay for the holidays passed around the Hufflepuff common room, Charles didn't hesitate to pen his name. On top of dodging his family as much as possible and it being his final year to experience a Hogwarts Christmas, he simply had too much to tend to, in regards to Pickles. For this plan to go off without a hitch, Pickles' record needed to stay just as clean as Seth managed to keep his. There couldn't be any room for error on their part, nor doubt in the Headmaster's mind. Framing someone who expertly kept his hands clean from his involvement with illicit activities came with great reward—and risk. If this backfired, Charles and Pickles might find themselves instead sucked spiritually dry by the Dementors of Azkaban.

“Oh! Toki's staying too.” Taking the sign-up sheet next, Toki poked his tongue out so that he could scribble his name. Instead of a dot over the 'i', he drew a cat's face. Between his oversized letters and Pickles' crooked scrawl, Charles wondered if Ravenwood would be able to decipher his loopy signature. “This place is so fun. Why would I ever wants to leave?”

Charles decided not to remind him that the school year would end with his return to Durmstrang. Instead, he took on a pile of homework for each of his NEWT classes as the last week before holidays closed out, then rose early on Saturday morning when the majority of the school flooded for the train. He had no one to see off, but the extreme quiet and solitude of the library beckoned him. Only one other student, the Ravenclaw Prefect Remeltindrinc, deemed this an appropriate place for the date and hour. From her distance and relative apathy toward his doings, she couldn't see that while Arithmancy homework sprawled over Charles' table, he worked instead at something else.

He assumed breakfast to be an equally peaceful affair, but came to a stop when he stepped inside the Great Hall. Sub-intelligent guffawing coming from the Slytherin table furrowed his brow as he slid in next to Pickles. “I thought you said he goes home every Christmas?”

“He usually does.” Judging by Pickles' slumped demeanour, he was just as pleased for the turn of events. “This and Easter're my only break from him, _ever_.”

“What about after he takes his NEWTs?” Charles stated for the sake of appearance as Professor Orlaag, Ravenclaw's head, passed by.

“You kiddin'? He's already gaht an office set up in the room above mom 'n' dad's garage. _He's gaht an all-in-one fax machine_ ,” Pickles mocked his mother. “Big deal! He can't even use it, it's an obsolete, ancient Muggle device. They'd know thet, if any of 'em had anything but air in their heads.”

Charles felt nicely calm in contrast to Pickles, comfortable with the knowledge that by the time NEWTs came around, Seth would be nicely tucked away where he certainly belonged. Their plan ticked in motion as their contact out of Svalbard placed an egg aside after receiving his pay. Pickles hated parting with so many of the galleons he earned, but grumbled less when reminded that it would probably do him good not to have an excessive amount of money lying around, should Seth start pointing fingers upon being discovered with such a dangerous creature. In the meantime, in fact, he would do well to put a halt on the various substances Rockstein smuggled into Hogsmeade for him. The logbook in which Pickles kept track of his extra-curricular activities needed to be pristine.

On his way down toward the dungeons in Professor Hammersmith's wake, Charles silently rehearsed the spell necessary to execute this portion of the plan. He didn't expect to be waylaid by Seth, Mitch, and Bobby, whose presences made Charles close his eyes briefly in lieu of starting. “Move along.”

“Heh. Hear that fellas, the Head Boy wants us to move along. Think he knows that this is _our_ part of the castle?” Seth smirked while Mitch and Bobby guffawed. “Shove off.”

“Taking an attitude, thirty points from Slytherin.” Charles narrowed his eyes. “Stay in my way, and I'll keep going until there's not one grain of sand left for your house.”

“Keep that up, and we'll—”

“You'll what, with what Prefect badge?”

Seth's expressed entertainment dried up, and Mitch and Bobby cracked their knuckles threateningly.

“Threaten me all you like, with harm,” Charles coolly stated. “You know the only one better at wandless magic than you is _me_. The three of you won't stand a chance.”

Hoping they wouldn't be stupid enough to try something anyway, Charles paid close attention to what happened at his back as he headed deeper into the dungeons. He breathed better around the corner. Seth was smart enough to realize that his word would never triumph, in front of Professor Meaddle. Charles was Head Boy for a reason, and Seth stripped of his Prefect badge halfway through their fifth year not without purpose. Perhaps Seth presented himself well and had Professor Crozier eating from his hand, but not _everyone_ could ignore that he undermined the integrity of this institution. For that, should Charles have passed his NEWT year _without_ getting rid of Seth, his appointment as Head Boy would surely go to waste.

Approaching Hammersmith's agape door soundlessly enough had Charles thinking quick and reaching for his wand. Long, curly brown hair streaked with grey rustled, before the man slumped at his desk. “Ah, Professor? A word?”

Hammersmith's good eye took a few seconds to focus, in wake of the spell. Once he recognized who stood before him, he sat straighter at his desk. “Yes. Come in. Did you find it?”

“Pickles had it in his bag,” Charles confirmed. “He must've forgot to hand it in, in rush for the feast last night.”

“Can't say I would've done any differently.” Professor Hammersmith flipped through the forged logbook that would normally contain all the potions Pickles made. Charles' heart hammered a little harder, for fear that he would question one important albeit missing feature. “Hm, I've fallen _incredibly_ behind on signing off his work.”

“Easy mistake to make, when you're ah, as busy as yourself.”

“That's true. You know though, I really have no memory of ever doing this.” Beginning at the first page, Professor Hammersmith scrawled his signature below the charmed impression of Pickles' handwriting. “I must be slipping in my organization. This'll stay between you and I, Head Boy Offdensen.”

“Of course.”

On his way out of the classroom, Charles nearly bumped shoulders with Pickles. His armful of ingredients offered chance for them to exchange a look beyond what the Potions professor could see. A curt nod relayed the most important aspect: objective complete.

Maybe, Charles thought as he retreated back for the library to begin his _actual_ homework, he should go in for politics if this whole Arithmancy thing didn't pan out.

*

Christmas Day situated early in the week. As the only one in his dormitory that stayed during the holidays, Charles took his time in rising to sift through the modest pile of gifts situated at the foot of his bed. His parents sent their usual stiff letter inquiring upon his health, along with a bag of sweets he was quite indifferent to. He more appreciated the new ties, choosing something festive though plain of the bunch to wear. A red tie with tiny starbursts seemed appropriate for the season.

“Happies Christmas!” Toki yelled as soon as Charles appeared in the common room. In contrast to Charles' conservatism, Toki went all out. He wore a Muggle Santa Claus hat, colourful sweater and—yes, movement confirmed—seemed to have fallen into a vat of green and red confetti. Charles stiffened as Toki's arms tightened around them, then quietly cleared them away with a spell when Toki had his back turned.

“I gots you something.” Toki shoved a gift into his hands. “Open it. Opens it right now, I want to see you reaction.”

Tentative, Charles peeled away the paper. Before he could even figure out what it was, Toki squealed with excitement. “I thoughts you might like it! What do you think?”

“Hm. . .” Charles rarely shopped for himself outside of strict necessity, so a magical cloth that would keep his glasses clean no matter what was surprisingly insightful on Toki's part. “Ah, thank you, Toki. I'll put it to good use. If you'll wait here a minute, I have something for you, as well.”

He lied, but he wouldn't receive a gift without something to return if he didn't have the chance. Toki's eyes lit up at the bag of sweets, from which Charles had removed the tags his mother attached to it with his name. “Wowie, thanks you so much! I'm going to eat them all right now!”

Charles' assumption that he said that only to be polite turned out false; within fifteen minutes, Toki laid across the common room couch in a semi-chocolate coma. “Ares you going anywhere?”

“I thought I would go down for breakfast.”

“Oh, waits for Toki! I'm going to meets all my pals down there. You should sit with us!”

There wasn't much of a chance for anything otherwise, since the current school population easily fit at one table. One end sat solidly green as the Slytherins curled inward on themselves, but the other three houses easily mixed and matched. Toki wriggled himself between Skwigelf and Remeltindrinc, greeting both with more gifts. Pickles got one next, much to Seth's interest further down the line, and then Explosion and Murderface, from Gryffindor house.

“I want you all to open your presents right now, so that I can see the looks on your faces when you realize that Toki got you gifts even though you told him not to.”

“You realizche that meansch you're schtill not getting anything in return, right?”

“I don't want anything. I's used to not getting presents on Christmas.”

“Oh, you neither?” Pickles asked, glaring down to where Seth showed off a set of lavish new items to his friends. “Dood, thanks anyway. Whet is this?”

“Invisible, mini-fireworks! I got them from the Weasley store. You puts them anywhere and then you says a spell to set them off. I thought you coulds have fun, throwing them at Seth or slippings them into his bag, or something.”

Pickles grinned crookedly. “Yeeuh, I could stand on that.”

“The rest of these guys might not've wanted to participate in the holiday, but I got you something,” Remeltindrinc told Toki, presenting him with a small furry ball. “Surprise!”

“Oh, wowie!” Toki regarded the Pygmy Puff with utmost excitement. “Skwisgaar, looks at it! What shoulds I name him?”

Charles never heard what he settled on, for Toki was moving along the table in no time at all, showing his new pet off to anyone else he'd became acquainted with. A first year Gryffindor girl, with short blonde hair and a cough, showed great interest.

“Well, Charlie,” Pickles got his attention, “what does the Head Boy do on Christmas Day?”

“Probably oilsch all hisch jointsch. . .” Murderface murmured to Explosion, who snorted.

Charles pretended he didn't hear them, although certainly didn't wish to admit now that he planned on spending it no differently than any other. He'd barely slogged his way through the pile of assignments unsympathetic staff set for him and his classmates. If he wanted a decent score on all of his NEWTs, as well, he needed to do some in-depth review before classes came back into session with the new year. “I was, ah. . .”

“You were going to pals around with us,” Toki asserted when he resumed his seat. “I won't takes no for an answer. Did everyone still want to have a snowballs fight?”

Skwigelf and Pickles made uncertain noises, but Murderface and Explosion's enthusiasm somehow carried all of them outside. While the five of them magically projected snow at each other, Remeltindrinc and Charles watched from the sideline. “Sometimes I worry about that kid.”

“Toki?” Remeltindrinc tightened her coat around herself. “Why?”

“He's so persuasive and outgoing, and he plays innocence perfectly. He can be dangerous too, though. I wonder what he's going to amount to, when he goes back to Durmstrang next year. He's so powerful already. . .”

Remeltindrinc chuckled. “You're not suggesting he might be the next Voldemort, are you?”

“No. I don't think so, anyways. You know him better than me, though. What do you think?”

“I won't deny that he's got a darker side, but then again, coming from where he does? They _teach_ the Dark Arts at Durmstrang, so how's he supposed to know any better? He doesn't want to hurt anyone. Well, that's not entirely true. He doesn't want to hurt _good_ people.”

“Or who he _thinks_ is good.”

“What're you getting at? The only people I've seen him think badly upon are Seth and his little gang, and you have to admit, that guy is six different kinds of a loser.”

“True,” Charles hesitantly agreed. He considered himself a good person too, and look at what he planned to do closer to springtime. “I suppose good people do bad things. Sometimes, for the greater benefit.”

Remeltindrinc regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “You speak so cryptically, whenever our paths cross. I can never tell what you're getting to, or if you're getting to anything at all. Lighten up, Head Boy. It's Christmas.”

Head Boy duties seemed to double on the holiday, though; even while Toki's group of friends palled around outside, Charles soon needed to recede inside so that he could revoke points here and there. Some Gryffindors snuck in Fire Whisky and set a painting on fire, so there went fifty points on top of a visit to the Headmaster's office. Monitoring the halls for activity bored him to the point of wishing to return outside, but passing by a window facing where the other boys played turned up nothing but their footprints slowly filling from the fresh veil of snow coming down. As expected, he found them later in the evening back in the Great Hall, wrapped up in thick robes and red at the nose.

“Ah. . .getting jackets from your dormitories before going outside might've been a good idea?”

“That's stupid,” Toki proclaimed. “Skwisgaar and I're used to it being _waaay_ colder than this! We can handles it.”

Skwigelf sneezed, racking his entire body against it.

“Indeed.” Charles dug out a tissue for him, from the bundle he packed around through the winter months. “You're all behaving, then? Please tell me I don't need to take away anymore points from the houses today.”

“Heh. There might be a bit of a light-show later.” Pickles and Toki exchanged secretive smirks. “But nah, if yer on duty, it's okee to move along, 'n' all thet.”

Deciding against it, feeling like it was high-time to take a break, Charles rejoined the group. Hot chocolate settled nicely in his stomach and, as the evening progressed, he actually managed to relax. Come about halfway through the Christmas feast, various bangs and pops sounded at the Slytherin end of the table. Seth's cronies choked on the food they tried to shove down their gullets, while Seth himself scurried off the bench and wound up tripping on the end of his robes. Charles laughed along with everyone else when he stood back up with a bloody nose and curled lip; only after Professor Crozier cleaned him up did it occur to Charles that he probably should've deducted some points from Hufflepuff house in the interest of fairness.

Oh well. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by BrutalWarElf

The faint light beams from their wands were the only thing illuminating the dark corridor leading to the dungeons at this hour, and Abigail would be lying if she said she wasn’t the slightest bit spooked by the way the ghostly light reflected off Toki’s pale features. His unusually grave expression did not help either. Even for a Prefect the corridors of the quiet castle were out of bounds at night, and if one of the staff were to catch them out of bed, her first detention would become a reality. Abigail had a perfect record so far, but ever since she got herself involved with her unlikely, inter-House group of friends, activities that bordered on illegal had almost become the order of the day.  

Toki’s face was scrunched up in concentration as he swept the corridors they passed with the weak bundle of light caused by his Lumos spell, and though he stepped lightly, the sound of his shoes still seemed overly loud to Abigail’s straining ears. This would be a lot safer if they had an invisibility cloak or something.

Toki’s one-eyed, fluffy cat was nowhere in sight, of course, and frankly, it had been a long shot to go looking for it at night in the first place. However, Toki’s sad and worried little face had been all it took to convince her to help him look for the animal.  She was certain he would have gone after it with or without her, and he was impossible to monitor once he retired to the Hufflepuff common room for the evening.

Abigail wasn’t clear on what had happened for the cat to escape the third-year dormitory and the common room, but Toki had spun an incoherent tale about Wrackspurts being on the loose – even if there was such a thing he had probably lost them himself – and about how Odin the one-eyed cat had a knack for hunting them because he was less hindered by his sight. Apparently Toki had set the set the cat the task of tracking down the invisible creatures that reputedly made people’s brains fuzzy by floating into their ears. Abigail had declined the set of earmuffs Toki had offered her. She was not entirely convinced the creatures existed at all; she was just here to find the Norwegian Forest cat so Toki could go back to bed. Then again, with the size of the castle, they might not find it tonight. Or ever.

She let out a sigh that was mostly tired and a little irritable.

“I’m sorries, Abigails,” Toki whispered overly loudly, presumably because of the fluffy earmuffs he was wearing influenced his perception of his own voice. “I didn’ts think he woulds run this far.”

“It’s okay,” Abigail mouthed back, “but promise me we’re going back to the common room after we search the dungeons, no matter what. Odin is a cat after all; they find their way home. He’ll probably be waiting in front of the Hufflepuff entrance in the morning.”

“Ja, I hope so,” Toki nodded, the ends of his sleek, dark blond hair swinging.

The gargoyle statue a ways down the hall nearly gave Abigail a heart-attack when her light beam lit it up for a split second. She really wanted to return to her warm and cosy four-poster in the Ravenclaw girls’ dormitories. To think she could have been in bed with a good book hours ago… She should have just told Toki to ask some of his other friends. That Nathan from Gryffindor looked like he would hold his own very well in dark corridors at night – and Charles Offdensen would probably have some intimate knowledge of the castle that would make the search infinitely safer and more efficient.

The air grew steadily colder and damper the deeper they went, past the Slytherin common room, past the Potions classrooms. Abigail thought she heard the steady drip of water on the flagstone floor getting closer. Were they under the lake yet? She realised belatedly that is was not the drip of water, but a third set of quiet footsteps.

Out of nowhere, Abigail felt something drag her to a stop by her hair, and she shrieked in alarm. At her side, Toki let out a yelp and nearly dropped his wand.

“Ow, you’re hurtings me!”

“What’s this?” Professor Hammersmith looked between them with his mismatched eyes. “Students out of bed after hours? And if it isn’t Mr Wartooth again... I let you off easy last time because that Head Boy is more trouble than he is worth, but you’ve toed the line one too many times.” He released their hair and shone his wand’s cold light from Abigail’s face to her Prefect badge. “Miss Remeltintdrinc… a Prefect should know that it is under no circumstance allowed for two students to be sneaking around the castle past curfew.”

Be brave, Remeltintdrinc, Abigail thought.

“We’re sorry, professor,” she tried, the smoothness of her voice belying her nerves. “Toki’s cat escaped, and he’s only got one eye, so we feared he might get lost-”

“Listen, Miss Remeltintdrinc, I’m not a horrible person, and I know you are a well-behaved student, so I’m going to let you go with a 25 point deduction from Ravenclaw.” He turned to Toki. “You, however, are long overdue for a lesson in obedience. Here I was, thinking that Durmstrang fostered discipline, but wherever there’s trouble, you seem to be at the centre of it. 25 points from Hufflepuff, and meet Professor Hashishiyyin for detention tomorrow afternoon. Understood?”

“Please, Professor,” Abigail began, fearful for what kind of detention Toki would suffer under the creepy Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher with the silver face, “Toki means no harm. He just gets caught up sometimes, especially when his pets are involved.”

“Need I mention he smuggled a dragon onto the Hogwarts grounds? And that his Thestral got loose in the castle last November? Diplomatic immunity he may have, but exchange students will be punished in accordance with Hogwarts School Rules when they break them.”

“In that case-” Abigail swallowed “-I will take that detention with him.”

Professor Hammersmith looked at her as if she was out of her mind, but she had her reasons. She knew Toki was scared of Professor Hashishiyyin. Given the history of abuse Toki had confided to Abigail, she had no doubt that being left alone with a man he feared for any period of time might prove traumatic for him.

“As you wish,” said Hammersmith. “Detention for both of you. Now back to your dormitories.”      

***

The castle was already dark after class when Abigail picked Toki up for their joint detention. He and Skwisgaar were leaning against the wall besides the doors of the Great Hall and talking in hushed tones about what she guessed was either music or Skwisgaar’s many pet peeves.

“How was your day, sweetie?” Abigail asked when she joined them. She tried to keep conversation light, unwilling to think about what manner of punishment awaited them. “Did you learn anything good in class today?”

“Hi Abigails!” Toki said cheerfully. He seemed mostly unafraid and unconcerned about their upcoming detention, which made Abigail second-guess herself. Was she being unreasonably worried about it? Perhaps Toki was just putting on a brave face for Skwisgaar. “Class was kinds of boring. I gets the idea that I’m aheads on a lot of subjects.”   

“Must be de superior Scansinavian ecucation…” Skwisgaar mused, though from what Abigail had seen of his academic prowess, it did not really show in him. The thing he was most adept at was Charms – though not necessarily the kind they taught at Hogwarts. More like charming the female professors into cutting him slack for being more involved with his music than with his homework. Abigail suspected that was not a thing he had actively studied either; his Veela heritage explained most of it.

“Hmhm,” Abigail sent him an unimpressed look. “Let’s go, Toki, we had better not be late.”

“Sees you, Skwisgaar!” Toki departed with a wave. “Ja, so class was boring but I hads some time off to practice guitars with Skwisgaar, which was funs, but he also gets kind of means sometimes? I mean, I likes him, but when he gets like that I wants to punch him in the face.”

“Don’t we all,” Abigail found herself laughing. “Try not to, though. Detention is such a waste of time. By the way, did you guys manage to find a fifth member for your band?”

“Ja, we gots our pals Moidaface – he plays Quidditch with Nathans and me – to agree to play bass. He isn’t very goods, but he mights learn when he take Music class and pay some attention to what Skwisgaar say.”

“Good for you! Are you guys going to write some songs now? Would be cool if you could perform for the other students sometime. What I heard you and Skwisgaar play so far was pretty good.” Abigail said as the turned a corner into the hallway where the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom was located.

“Ja, probablies. The guys don’ts really like Toki’s ideas, but I gets the feeling Skwisgaar, Nathans and Pickle will figure it out. I’s happy enough if I can play with them.” Toki smiled blissfully.

“I guess I’ll have to come listen to your practice again sometime, then…” Abigail trailed off when they came up in front of the classroom door. She peered inside through one of the windows. “Are we the only ones?” She could not keep the hint of dread out of her voice.

“You are.” Said the low, raspy voice of Professor  Hashishiyyin, and shivers ran down Abigail’s spine when he laid his gaze on them. It was impossible to see his eyes behind the creepy metal mask that obscured the upper half of his face, which he wore out of fear of Legillimency according to rumour. It made him impossible to read, not to mention terrifying. “Follow me.”

A cavernous room deeper in the dungeons than either of them had ever been only revealed its approximate size and shape by the echo of sound bouncing off the walls – it was that dark. When Abigail’s eyes began to adjust, she thought she saw the outline of two stark wooden posts. They were not going to get flogged or something, were they? Her heart shot up in her throat, and she subconsciously grabbed Toki’s hand in her own. Toki squeezed back hard, clearly also afraid.

When they hesitated on the doorstep, a rough shove pushed them inside.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Abigail demanded, braver than she felt.

“This is detention,” came the low growl from underneath the mask. “Wands.”

Abigail instinctively felt that giving up her wand would be a stupid thing to do, but how could she disobey and give him more power over them? Next to her, Toki handed over his wand in meek resignation. There was nothing of his fierce temperament in him now, but that seemed to be the way he responded to authority in general. It made the discrepancy with how he stood up to his fellow-students all the more jarring.

Unwilling to antagonise the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Abigail gave up her own wand.

An invisible force slammed them both upside-down against the posts, which, by the feel of them, turned out to be inverted crosses. Head still ringing from the impact, Abigail heard the professor chuckle darkly. The door closed behind him, leaving them immobilised and blind in the pitch blackness. Somewhere off to her left, Abigail heard Toki hyperventilate.

“Shh, we’re going to be okay, sweetie.” The blood rushing to her head began to pound painfully against her skull. “He’s probably just trying to scare us. I read in Hogwarts: A History that corporal punishment used to be commonplace up until the Muggles outlawed it in their schools all throughout Britain in 1987.” Toki did not reply, but she kept talking to give him something to focus on. “I guess this prof is still pretty old school… How’s that at Durmstrang?”

Toki took a few deep, gulping breaths. “I nevers gots punished like this _at school_.” The way he said _at school_ made Abigail wonder, not for the first time, what Toki’s home situation was like when he came home for the summers. Probably worse than she had imagined so far. “Abigails, I’m scareds,” Toki said in a small voice.

On impulse, Abigail began to sing him a song she made up on the spot, to the melody of the lullaby her mother used to sing to her before bed.

“Don’t be scared, my little friend; I am here with you...”

Even though she herself was scared witless about how long they would have to hang here with the blood pounding in their ears and their extremities slowly going numb, Abigail was glad she had decided to take the punishment with Toki. Something about Offdensen’s concern about Toki’s dark side had stuck with her. Now more than ever might be a crucial time to show him support and compassion if they did not want him to go down that road.

***

The echo of the shocking experience of their unorthodox and needlessly cruel punishment lingered with Abigail for days. Even after being released without a word she felt violated and unsafe in what should be a nurturing environment. She wondered if it was worth going to Headmaster Meaddle for, like Head Boy Offdensen suggested after hearing about the outrageous detention. It would be their word against the professor’s, however, and what role did Hammersmith play in this? Had he sent them off to his colleague knowingly? It was almost as if he had intended to scare the wits out of them in the worst way possible. Still, if that was the case, it was the word of two students – one with a rather dubious record – against two professors. Perhaps forgetting about the whole thing would be better for them. It was over; they did not need to drag it out.

Toki had been quiet and withdrawn for the better part of the week as well, and their separate common rooms made it hard to check up on him when he did not want to be in company. Abigail had asked Pickles and Offdensen to keep an eye on him, and they had reported back to her that Toki spent a lot of time in his dormitory surrounded by his pets.

Thankfully, he came out again for band practice, which Abigail had been asked to attend in order to give feedback about the new songs and the optimal amplifying charms for their current set-up. She was glad to see Toki with some colour in his cheeks again. As far as she could see, he had made a full recovery.

Abigail and Offdensen watched the band play together. The Head Boy had taken a similar interest in their mutual friends’ musical endeavours. She was positively surprised that the five boys who never seemed like much on their own turned out to have such a brilliant chemistry as a band. Whether it was Skwisgaar’s Veela magic that imbued the instruments or simply their skill at song writing and playing, Abigail thought they might really be onto something. Judging by Offdensen’s pensive look, he shared those thoughts.

“Miss Remeltintdrinc,” he said formally in the lull between songs where the boys dicked around and adjusted settings, “what would you think of recording the band so they can spread their music among the rest of the students? I hear you have some proficiency with auditory charms.”

Abigail nodded slowly. She could see a future in this for them, and would be glad to help. Offdensen’s suggestion was taken up by the rest, and a scuffle ensued where instruments and equipment were relocated for acoustic purposes under Skwigelf’s direction.

“Before we starts recordings,” Toki said to his bandmates, “I gots something for you all.” He rummaged around in his backpack, and produced a set of flat, circular objects.

Skwisgaar took his with a smile, and pinned it to the lapel of his robes like Toki showed him. Nathan, Pickles and Murderface stared at the badges as if they did not know what to think.

“Uhh, Toki…” Nathan rumbled. “Are you taking the piss or what?”

“Theesch coloursch are really gay,” Murderface pointed out.

“Yeuh, dood, are we supposed to walk around with this pinned to our feckin’ robes? My reputation is bad enough as it is.”

“Yups,” said Toki, unconcerned with his bandmates’ hesitation. He walked up to Abigail, and handed her the last badge. “I gots one for you, too, because you sang to me and it was so nice!”

Abigail looked between the mildly offensive badge and Toki’s beaming face, and decided to take one for the team – or rather, the Club of Highly Awesome Virtuosos. She, too, pinned the badge spelling CHAV in brilliant colours to her robes.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by BrutalWarElf

Thursdays were not Magnus’ favourite days where teaching was concerned. Of course every work day had its moments where he wanted to stab something – or someone – in frustration over his students’ incompetence, inattentiveness and general sloppiness, but Thursdays were worst this semester. He was getting old, he thought when that red-headed sixth-year came to him to sign off on some extracurricular potions work. By the look of his log, they had been at this the whole year, but Magnus could barely remember the boy’s name. Pickles Something.  Was that his last name or his first? He would have to discreetly ask that Hufflepuff Head Boy who always seemed to know everything.

Thinking of Charles Offdensen, something began to nag him at the back of his mind.  Why had he come to Magnus with Pickles’ ledger last time? Magnus wondered if he should be suspicious, but that kid either never put a toe out of line, and he would probably rat out anyone who got close to him for fear of damaging his own reputation.  

“Professer?” Pickles prompted, bouncing impatiently on his trainers.

Magnus raked his hand through his wiry, greying hair. Should he just okay this without any questions asked? It was probably a waste of time to investigate it, but with how fragmented his mind felt lately…

“Show me your work for a second before I sign, Mr Pickles.” Magnus requested.

“Sure thing, professer,” the redhead nodded. He led the way to a corner of the classroom, where a collection of blackened pewter cauldrons brewed away over burners.

Upon closer investigation, everything seemed to be in order. The cauldrons contained exactly what the ledger said; advanced potions for a sixth year, easily N.E.W.T. level, but nothing illicit. He was not just getting old – he was getting paranoid as well. Then again, teaching for so many years would do that to a person. The reality of the stupid shit students got up to was stranger than he could ever have imagined when he began this career.  

“Everything seems to be in order.” Magnus handed the ledger back to Pickles. “You’re putting your talent to good use. If only more students did that.” He said wistfully.

“Thank yew, sir,” Pickles grinned. He stowed the ledger in his backpack. A curious sort of button or badge gleamed underneath his robes, pinned to his spencer rather than the robes themselves, as if he was half-ashamed to wear it but obligated in some manner. Magnus could not get more than a glimpse of it before his student left for some other class.

The combined fifth-years of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor were more of a challenge than their Houses’ reputations would suggest. It wasn’t that the Houses did not get along; the divide was more between the kids, mostly girls, vying for Skwisgaar Skwigelf’s attention versus the ones that wanted to pay attention to the lesson. In a way it was fascinating how the residue of Skwigelf’s Veela heritage blinded the majority of the girls to his rather bold nose, his gangly limbs and his girly hair, not to mention the unhealthy, pale colour of his skin and a garish button on the front of his robes that spelled CHAV for everyone to see. If he wore that to deter the admirers that followed him around everywhere, it wasn’t very effective. Strangely, his curly-haired friend Remeltintdrinc wore one too, which deepened the mystery. Perhaps it was an acronym of sorts.

Regardless, the giggling and whispering got on Magnus’ nerves almost as much as Skwigelf’s tortured face – as if he’d rather be anywhere else than at the constant centre of attention – and the fact that literally only five students managed to ignore the rest and pay attention to his lecture. He could not summon a lot of sympathy for the students who had to go up to the infirmary for minor burns after botching today’s assignment. He had warned them about this potion’s particulars – it was up on the blackboard, for fuck’s sake – but hardly anyone had listened. 

Skwigelf lingered when the fifth-years filed out to make room for Hufflepuff and Slytherin third years, possibly in an attempt to cross the castle to his next class in private. Apart from his tendency to zone out in class he wasn’t so much trouble. He was friendly and mostly respectful of people of any shape and size, but Magnus would still rather he’d shove off and take the inevitable ruckus with him. The third-years were no exception to his charm.

However, that troublesome little shit Toki Wartooth breezed in and engaged Skwigelf at his desk at the front of the class before he could leave.

“Skwisgaar, look, I hurts my finger playing guitar!” The mousy boy, whose plain appearance belied strange personality, thrust his left hand under Skwigelf’s nose. “Is that bad? Look, it’s like a bloodsblister or something.”

Skwigelf took Wartooth’s hand and examined it critically. “That’s whats you get for not playings regularly and then overdoesing it, huh?” He reprimanded. “You shoulds be more careful. Whats if you get hort before the concert? There goes our shot at becomings a world famous rocks and rollsband!”

Magnus had caught some of the buzz surrounding some students forming a music group and rapidly gaining an audience by spreading their music among the rest of the student population – it was a hot topic. Apparently they had found some underhanded way to distribute their music, which was rumoured to cause mayhem wherever it was played. Somehow it did not surprise him to learn that both Skwigelf with his charisma and Wartooth with his penchant for trouble were involved. Given the button underneath Pickles’ robes, Magnus was willing to bet his other eye that the Hufflepuff sixth-year had a part in it as well. He would have to keep an eye out for their co-conspirators and make sure they kept in line.

“Now whats do I do to make it better?” Wartooth bit his lip and looked up at Skwigelf as if he expected the fifth-year to solve his problem for him.

The kid was extremely proficient in certain areas, such as hexes, curses and Transfiguration, but completely helpless in others, which made him a highly irritating and volatile mix of innocent and dangerous. He got on Magnus’ nerves to no end, and it had been extremely satisfying to send him to detention with Hogwarts’ most feared professor after catching him out of bed after hours. Unfortunately, Miss Remeltintdrinc had insisted on sharing in his misery, but at least they had both been properly cowed for days. 

Skwigelf sighed minutely, inspected Wartooth’s finger, got out his wand and performed a minor healing spell.

“Bes careful with it now, alrights?”

“Thanks you, Skwisgaar!” Wartooth gave him and Abigail a tight hug. “Sees you at lunch.”

***

When Magnus exited the Potions classroom after the last period before the lunch break, the small group of seventh-year Slytherins and Hufflepuffs he had just been teaching N.E.W.T. levels all seemed to be gathered around something written on the wall. Alarmed gasps and quiet whispers hushed the students, and Magnus pushed his way through the throng to see what the dripping red letters on the dark dungeon wall said.

REVENGE IS COMING

The letters were still gleaming wet – were they written in blood? Magnus surveyed the graffiti with mild distaste. Who would do such a thing? And who was it meant for? For him? If this was some student’s idea of a practical joke, they had something coming.

“Heh. Professer.” The Slytherin student called Seth spoke up. “Look who I found skulking around the corner. Heh. The fuckin’ perp.”

Magnus was surprised to see Seth drag a confused and disoriented Abigail Remeltintdrinc with him. She had red stains on her hands and her robes.

“Let go of me! What is going on?” She asked in a small voice. Seth led her in front of Magnus and slunk back to watch between his Slytherin classmates. “What happened to my hands?” Abigail stared at her blood-stained hands in horror.

“Well, Miss Remeltintdrinc, it appears you have been caught red-handed vandalising school property.” Magnus frowned when he realised how out of character this was. “Have any of you seen what happened?”

Most students shrugged and looked away at his inquiry, but Head Boy Offdensen stepped forward. 

“Sir,” he said under his breath. “I find this a very unlikely scenario considering the student involved. Perhaps it would be prudent to see if Miss Remeltintdrinc was not acting of her own initiative.”

“What are you thinking, Offdensen?”

Offdensen studied Abigail’s frightened and dazed face. “Her confusion definitely suggests she might have been under the influence of a, ah, certain powerful curse, if you catch my drift, professor?”

“The Imperius Curse?” Magnus said quietly. He raised his voice to dismiss the rest of the students. “Move along, everyone. I will deal with Miss Remeltintdrinc.” He turned back to Offdensen. “That is a grave accusation indeed. No teacher in the castle would cast this on the students, and the Unforgivables are not taught to the students here.”

Offdensen nodded in agreement, but said: “Perhaps someone with the appropriate knowledge and motivation…”

Magnus’ mind immediately went to that Wartooth boy. Everybody knew they taught the Dark Arts at Durmstrang – who knew what those students were capable of by their third year? Wartooth definitely had motivation to plot revenge against Magnus since that detention with Professor Hashishiyyin. If he did, Magnus would rather find out sooner than later.

“Miss Remeltintdrinc? Do you remember what you have done?” He asked.

“I think so, Professor, though it’s a little fuzzy. I remember someone handing me the paint, and then I felt… so calm, like every worry was wiped from my mind. There was just this single thing I felt like I needed to do – but I would not know why-” she turned to look at what she had written on the wall with big, fearful eyes “-or who it was meant for.”

Her description did match what Magnus knew about the Imperius curse. Offdensen’s suggestion made an awful lot of sense.

“The one who handed you the paint – do you remember what he looked like?”

Abigail racked her brain, willing herself to provide something to prove her innocence.

“Hufflepuff robes.” She said quietly. That settled it, for Magnus.

Magnus glanced between the two students. “Offdensen, please bring Toki Wartooth to my office.”

“Professor,” Offdensen protested, appalled, “you don’t believe…!” Wartooth was somewhat of a protégé of his, so this must come as a shock to him.

“Wartooth, in my office, no delays. Hop to it, Offdensen.”

“Yes sir.” Offdensen nodded tightly, and strode down the corridor.

“Don’t worry, Miss Remeltintdrinc,” Magnus reassured Abigail, who was still in a bit of a daze. “We’ll find out who did this to you and make sure it won’t happen again. Follow me.” He steered her to his office, where he prepared her a cup of tea – with a dash of Veritaserum. “There you go, my dear,” he said after she had taken a sip. “You’re probably just a victim of someone else’s schemes, aren’t you? Can you go over what happened again for me?”

“I don’t remember many specifics since I left Potions class this morning… I got the paint from someone in Hufflepuff robes, but I don’t recall their face, and they did not speak. I just knew what they wanted me to do, and there was no doubt in my mind but to do as they wanted. I went down to the dungeons and wrote on the wall – and the next thing I know I’m coming to my senses and Seth is dragging me by my arm.”

“Alright… thank you, Miss Remeltintdrinc-” There was a knock on the door. “Who is it?”

“Charles Offdensen and Toki Wartooth, sir.” Offdensen’s muffled voice said.

“Enter.”

By the looks of Toki Wartooth’s face, Offdensen had not informed him yet why he was here. He looked around him with his innocent curiosity, his expression as unconcerned as if he had already forgotten about their nightly run-in in the dark dungeon corridors.

“Good afternoon, professors,” he said cheerfully. He either could not contain his glee over what he had done, or he was completely oblivious to what was going on. Magnus would find out soon enough.

“Good afternoon,” he replied. “Take a seat and have some tea.” Wartooth gulped down his Veritaserum infusion. “I have a couple of questions for you.” Wartooth nodded cooperatively, and Magnus was struck by the thought he might have a personality disorder of some sort if he could reconcile these two sides of him so effortlessly. “Did you make Miss Remeltintdrinc write ‘Revenge is coming’ on the walls opposite the Potions classroom?”

“You dids what?” Wartooth turned to regard Abigail in surprise.

“Answer the question, Wartooth.”

“No, I dids not.”

“You did not cast the Imperius curse on your friend to make her vandalise school property.”

“No sir.”

“Have you ever cast the Imperius curse?”

“Yes.”

“On Miss Remeltintdrinc?”

“No, on a spider, in class at Durmstrang.”

Magnus subconsciously sent Offdensen a puzzled look. There was no circumventing the Veritaserum, was there? Unless they taught that at Durmstrang, too.

“Professor, if I may suggest checking Mr Wartooth’s wand to be absolutely certain?” Offdensen had no idea, of course, that he was already quite certain Wartooth was telling the truth against all odds.

Magnus nodded his assent.

“Take out your wand, Toki.” Offdensen prompted. Toki held it out for him. “ _Priori Incantatem_!”

The echoes of the spells that Wartooth had cast recently began to appear in reverse order; what he had practiced in Charms class, and Potions before that, a spell to make his bed and fold his pyjamas, a spell to turn off the lights – all innocent things, like he said under influence of the Veritaserum.

“Yes, yes, Offdensen. I’ve seen enough.”

“Professor,” Offdensen said, “since I, too wear Hufflepuff robes…” He held out his wand.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Head Boy.” Magnus waved him away. “Any other theories?”

“Well, sir, many Slytherin students in the seventh year have, ah, made enemies among the Hufflepuff student population by bullying. Seth in particular comes to mind. Perhaps he is the one targeted here. It could have been anyone, frankly, so it might be wise to keep an eye on him.”

“As I recall, he and his brother fight a lot, don’t they?”

“They do, sir.”

“Can you bring Pickles in here, just to be sure?” Offdensen let out a little chuckle at Magnus’ request. “You don’t believe he could have done it?” Magnus asked.

 “Not even to save his life, sir. But as I said, Seth may very well hold the key to the, ah, mystery of who cursed Miss Remeltintdrinc.”

Magnus nodded, and made a mental note to put someone on that Seth’s case. He personally could not stand that slippery snake, so it would be highly satisfactory if monitoring him yielded anything worth putting him in detention for. On the other hand, if someone was out to get him with the revenge that was supposedly coming, who was Magnus to stand in the way?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by nursehelena.

With winter receding, the Slytherin common room didn't feel so frigid. Even though spells kept frozen ground at bay, some of its residents still likened it to the vacuum of outer space.

Seth wasn't so poetic, or scientifically inclined.

“Heh, it's gettin' a little nippley in here.” With his arm around Amber's shoulders, Seth's gaze fixed on her chest. “Could you cut glass with those? Heh.”

She didn't reply. In the silence that fell, Seth considered how exactly he would profit off his girlfriend being able to cut glass to look like diamonds. There could be a lot of money in something like that. He'd need to figure out a way to thwart those guys that inspected them. Maybe it would be easier in the Muggle world. That way, he could really put that fax machine he invested in to good use. Maybe one day he'd make enough money to buy himself a spiffy white suit.

“What would you think about that, lil Amber?” Seth cooed in her ear. “We could move to fuckin' Australia. Have some kids, and whatever else people fuckin' do, you know?”

She shrugged, not meeting his eyes.

“That's why you're the love of my fuckin' heart, you know that? Just let the fuckin' man call the shots and I'll make sure you're taken care of.”

Spring on the horizon meant NEWTs, and NEWTs meant that Hogwarts would soon eject Seth into the world in order to make his own way. The closer that day got, the more he regretted blackmailing others in his year to do his homework for him. Provided how much they cared about their various secrets trickling out, he might not hold this power over them anymore. He'd need to find someone else in whatever career or job he found, or else he needed to finally make one of his ideas work. They were all brilliant, but he lacked the ability to develop them.

What did he need? Money.

And how could he get that? Pickles.

The problem was. . .Pickles was dodging him. Nothing new, but Seth couldn't even corner him in the Potions lab in order to figure out why his cuts dried up. Consultation of Pickles' logbook confirmed that nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Manegro Potion, completed, tested, and properly disposed of. Wideye Potion, with a couple pints kept for personal use during studying for exams. A burn-healing paste, which was used in the hospital wing on a student that came into contact with Fire Seed Plant during an out-of-bounds trip into the Forbidden Forest.

Nothing illegal, that would rake in the money Seth estimated such things would make in Muggle London and abroad. No careful mixture of Calming Draught and Bloodroot Potion, to mimic the effects of heroin for a much lower price and dosage, nor any Dizziness Draught to heighten the effects of alcohol. No Draught of Peace, Elixir to Induce Euphoria, Girding Potion, Love Potion in tablet form, Swelling Solution, or Vitamix Potion. Why did Pickles stop? Judging by the cuts Seth managed to collect, Pickles made a _fortune_ doing this.

Maybe he'd have better luck catching Pickles on Friday morning, when he had no classes. Although Professor Hammersmith lectured some first years on the twelve uses of dragon blood, Pickles quietly milled about his corner. He froze when he saw Seth, then put his back between them. He didn't turn quickly enough for Seth to miss how his face screwed up with a combination of dread and hatred. It failed to faze Seth, who hovered at his brother's back and watched powdered Bicorn horn be added into whatever simmered in the cauldron.

He stood close enough for his lips to nearly touch Pickles' ear. “You fuckin' got somethin' for me?”

“Dood, personal space.”

“I've been feelin' a little poor lately, Pickles. I need some fuckin' money, if you know what I'm sayin'. Maybe one, two. . .five hundy galleons?”

“I don't have thet much, 'n' I gaht no reason to share wid you anymore.”

“Oh, is that fuckin' right? Would be kind of a shame if a little starling told somebody about where all the Magical goods are comin' from, on London's streets?”

“Is thet whet you are? A little starling?” Pickles snapped under his breath, shuddering away from Seth. “Leave me alone.”

“I wanna know what you've been up to, little brother.” Seth ignored the request. “I think you're just getting sneaky. No more 'hiding in plain sight'. Where are you brewing?”

“Here, and only here. Go away.”

“That isn't gonna fly. Heh.”

Pickles commenced dicing up some Mandrake root, going into deep thought rather than telling him yet again to take off. Reading it as a good sign, Seth leaned back against the cutting table and waited. Pickles further ignoring his existence made Seth smirk.

“You want anything, yer gonna have to help,” Pickles mumbled under his breath. “You want some of the reward? You gotta take a risk first.”

“I'm not too big on that. Heh.”

“Then too bad.”

Damn his curiosity. Seth studied Pickles longer as more ingredients were added to the cauldron, then huffed. “What's the deal, then?”

“All you gotta do is pick somethin' up fer me. Could you handle thet?”

“Is it big?”

“Might be a few kilos.” Pickles glanced at him. “It'll be in a box, so it should be easier to carry.”

“When'm I supposed to get this? And where? What is it?”

“It's a rare ingredient thet I need to make a Bloodroot Potion. Market's bin dry,” Pickles explained. “Rockstein's bringin' it in fer me, anyway. It should be down at his cabin next Saturday night. I was gonna hold off on gettin' it until after the show me 'n' the other guys are playin', but if you bring it up to the castle I could start on it right away. The first ingredients need to boil under a full moon. If I don't do it then, thet's one less batch between now and the summer holiday.”

Which translated to one less opportunity for a payday, in Seth's court. “All right. Yeah, I can fuckin' do that. Just. . .let me know what time, 'n' I'll fuckin' be there.”

*

As the Slytherins debated amongst themselves skipping the Dethklok concert on principle or admitting that it might be good, Seth stayed out of the discussion completely since it didn't matter to him. Well, should anyone ask, of course he was going to go. He loved his little brother and, besides, Pickles had gotten all his ideas about music from _him_.

Come the night that everyone made their final decision, Seth filed out of the Slytherin common room with the stream. At the staircase, as they headed into the Great Hall, Seth diverged for the door.

“Hey Seth,” Mitch called after him. “Where're ya goin'?”

“Not to the show. Heh. Got some business to attend to. Get lost.”

The trail down to Rockstein's cabin was long, slippery, and dark. Shoes caked in mud, Seth arrived on a final glide. Hopefully this thing wasn't _too_ heavy, or else he'd slide back two feet for every step he took forward, on the return trip. When he knocked, it sounded for a moment as if no one existed inside. Then, a voice came from the other side. “Who's k-k-k-there, baby?”

“It's Seth. I'm here to pick somethin' up for Pickles. Heh.”

Pink, the latest colour Rockso dyed his hair with, appeared in the cracked door. “You're alone?”

“Yeah, man.”

Rockstein let him in, where a box situated in the middle of the room. Lack of anything situated atop it made it appear as if it too had only just arrived; coolness to the touch despite the crackling fire confirmed it. “You're just in k-k-k-time. Get this out of here. Dr. Rockso doesn't want it around any longer than it needs to be.”

The wooden crate, which weighed somewhere between two and three stone by Seth's estimation, was just beyond the size easy to carry. He couldn't see over it, which irritated him nearly as much as the fact that he couldn't set the damn thing down in order to grab his wand and levitate it the rest of the way to the castle. Sucking it up, he did his best to feel out bits of traction with his foot, following the lights emanating from Hogwarts' towers. Bass pounded against the inside of the Great Hall, giving Seth the impression that everyone was well distracted. Not at all concerned that he might be seen or heard, he headed toward the dungeons.

“Going somewhere?”

Seth's blood ran cold at the hoarse voice, nearly making him drop the crate. Cheek to it, he focused on the staircase. Hashishiyyin, seated about halfway up, leaned forward on his knees and curled a fist beneath his chin. Behind his mask, his craggy face showed no hint toward what his business was.

“Heh. To my common room,” Seth replied. “They put you on hall duty, huh? Makin' sure no kids sneak off?”

“No.” Hashishiyyin descended toward him. “The school received a tip of something possibly dangerous being brought into the castle tonight. Come with me to my office.”

“Dangerous?” Seth maintained an aloof demeanour, even if he sweat beneath his robes. Oh well; if he got busted, he could just tell them what Pickles intended to use this stuff for. It would be his word against his brother's—a lazy Hufflepuff that would've been in Ravenclaw, if not for his apathy for anything outside of supplying the Muggle streets with drugs.

Hopefully, though, it didn't need to go that far. Hashishiyyin relieved him of the box and headed up to the second floor. Seth followed faithfully behind. How far could he get, if he bolted? Unfortunately, despite Hashishiyyin having only been here for the current school year, he knew Seth by name due to the attention he drew to himself. He didn't want to be nervous or scared as he filed in the Defence Against the Dark Arts office, but the smirk Seth stepped inside the school with had completely disappeared.

“Why don't we look at what you have, before I go to the Headmaster?” Hashishiyyin retracted his wand and muttered a quick spell before each nail holding the top of the box shut clattered against his desktop and the floor. Seth's curiosity equalled the professor's, causing him to crane. He should probably go over the mental list he'd compiled as to who would put him in this situation, most likely Pickles, but he wanted to know what he'd been framed with. His brother most likely did it out of spite, intent to give him detention for the rest of the year and possibly have his Quidditch privileges revoked, and for that Seth almost admired him. He'd taught Pickles everything he knew, after all. It was only natural for their dynamic to begin switching back and forth, after a point.

Hashishiyyin stared inside the box, completely unreadable; Seth couldn't see anything, from where he sat. “What the hell is this?”

Seth shrugged.

“What is it?” Hashishiyyin asked more forcefully, coming around the desk. “You don't fool me. I know you know.”

“I got no clue.”

“I might believe that from almost any other student? You? You're a problem, a delinquent. You and that Wartooth boy. . .”

“Heh. Yeah, he's a joke.”

“Quiet.” Hashishiyyin passed him by. “I'm going to get Headmaster Meaddle. Wait here.”

As soon as the office door closed, Seth's curiosity got the best of him. What exactly had his little brother brought in, that would pull such a reaction? He pushed the lid enough for a line of light to manifest across what looked like an egg. For what, though?

Seth's mouth fell into a gape as he removed the crate's lid completely. This was rare. Not only that, but valuable. Did Pickles have enough money to buy this? Obviously, Seth hadn't been taking enough of a cut, if his brother needed to charge enough for his concoctions in order to cover _this_ much of a costly ingredient. Just _one_ of these. . .Seth could run forever. He could live off what he'd earn from selling this one egg to someone in Knockturn Alley, or maybe further abroad.

Too excited to think an entire plan through—and too scared to waste such an opportunity—Seth snatched the egg out of the box. It was warm, not to mention heavy. His back protested, though didn't mind so much when he tucked it under his robes. It didn't matter if he looked like he expected an oversized baby. Everyone was down in the Great Hall, and it wasn't all that far from the dungeons. If he moved fast, he could fetch his Firebolt III, flee the school grounds, and then Apparate far away from here. Bergen, where Seth had visited during the summer holidays on a whim, was still vivid in his mind's eye. That would make a good starting point.

Seth waddled down the hallway, trying to listen for any signs that Hashishiyyin and Meaddle came after him. All he could hear though, was the bass coming from his brother's blastbeats down below. It reverberated heavily through the egg, feeding the idea that something inside moved.

“Ugh, what the fuck?” Something syrupy ran down the inside of Seth's clothes. He ignored it at first, but when it seeped enough to cool his skin he couldn't wait any longer to address the trail he left down the hallway. Standing still, he could feel the mass writhing around in front of his abdomen. He dropped it in his shock and took a step back, certain he'd broken the thing by the noise it made upon impact. Sure enough, cracks appeared around the edges, from which came the same liquid that Seth now tried to wipe off himself.

He'd thought it was a dragon, at first glance. No. . .these were even _rarer_ , and possibly more dangerous. Could Seth move it still, as a baby? Would it be partial to whatever it saw first, at least long enough to get it out of here?

A dragon's tail uncurled itself around a weak-looking goat's body, as Seth approached. He didn't have much time to attempt this. Piercing yellow eyes that could belong to either a lion or snake looking right back at him should've backed him off. Unfortunately, he allowed greed to triumph over instinct.

“Heh, hey little—”

The tail collided with the side of his head at a speed too high to more than register. Everything ached when he came back to, facing the ceiling with Hashishiyyin and Meaddle leaned over him.

“. . .nowhere in sight,” Meaddle muttered. “We need to get him out of here, along with the other students.”

“What about his punishment?”

“We can't punish him if the Chimaera gets him.” Meaddle disappeared, footsteps fading down the hallway. “Take him outside, then help me track this thing down. Tell Hammersmith, as soon as all the students are out of the establishment, I want every staff member working on this. The DRCMC will be here shortly.”

“Shouldn't someone watch him until then, and make sure he doesn't get away?”

“Yes. . .put the Head Boy in charge of him. He's injured, I don't think he's going very far. . .”

*

Seth had no recollection of any such thing actually happening. The sun hovered in the sky when his head stopped throbbing enough to poke his memory. Funny, the Chimaera was really cool. If only it were a beast capable of being trained. No one would ever mess with him, if he had one of those to ride on.

Where was it, anyway? And where was _he?_

“I don't know, do you think it's a coincidence?” Quiet voices on the lower level of the Headmaster's office conversed. He recognized the first one as Crozier. “If I have my timing right, the Chimaera hatched just as Dethklok played the song about it.”

“An egg hatches when it's ready to, Crozier.” Ravenwood too stood below. “But that is beside the point. What do we do, for the remainder of the school year? We're yet again short a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and. . .not to mention Meaddle. . .”

“We'll have to consult with the Board of Governors,” Stampington stated next. “There's only so much we can do, as the house heads. We can't replace either, ourselves.”

“Perhaps Selatcia will step in,” Orlaag referred to the Board's Chairman. “He's been on the Board for many years, and is the most knowledgable about Hogwarts' proceedings. At least temporarily, until a replacement can be found or appointed.”

“You awake there, boy?” Someone in near-vicinity asked. Seth's vision still blurred, but he nodded. “Good. We're going to start talking about the repercussions for your actions, then. Your parents are on their way to the castle. We already know everything.”

“Know what?”

“You brought a Class-A Non-Tradeable Material into the school. Not only that, but you brought about the deaths of one professor and the Headmaster, in their attempt to remove the beast and protect the students. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I—that fuckin' thing wasn't mine. It was my brother's—”

“A likely story. We've traced it right back from the beginning. _You_ _r_ owl was used to contact the Chimaera sanctuary in Svalbard, _your_ name was signed on the letter of request, and _your_ writing was matched to the cursive.”

“That's bullshit, my brother was using it to make some potion—”

“No part of the Chimaera, whether hair or scale, is useful in potion-making. Wand-making, sure, but that's not what your brother has been doing down in the dungeons, is it?” Seth focused on the wizard, but lost him again to blurriness. “The Head Boy, Offdensen or rather, already suggested we look into Pickles, but Hammersmith presented his logbooks. They're clean. Hammersmith swears by them.”

“That—but that can't fuckin' be!” Seth tried to stand, but his inner-ear seemed to be hit askew thanks to the Chimaera. “Where's Pickles? I need to talk to him!”

“You won't be talking to anybody, except for your parents when they arrive, and then to the Wizengamot after we have you transferred to Azkaban and get a date set up—”

“Azkaban?” Seth repeated. “For what?”

“I've already read your crimes to you. One count of possession of Class-A Non-Tradeable Materials, and two counts of manslaughter.”

“I didn't kill those guys!”

“That's why you're not being charged with murder.” The man slinked away. “Good day, Seth. I'll see you before the Wizengamot.” 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by BrutalWarElf

“So, Toki,” Charles said from the doorway of the third year dormitories, “are you ready to get back on the, ah, ship to Norway?”

Toki shrugged from where he was packing his trunk. He was not ready to go back to his parents’ bleak cottage outside Lillehammer, and to spend the whole miserable summer doing chores without using magic at all. He was going to miss his new friends and bandmates terribly. Hanging out in in the common room of the House that had become his second home with Skwisgaar and Abigail; getting up to no good with Pickles while Charles busted his ass to keep them out of trouble; playing Quidditch with Nathan and Murderface even though they did not end up winning the Quidditch Cup. Magical creatures did not quite make up for actual friends. The prospect of going back to Durmstrang after a summer break that was bound to be miserable was nothing to feel excited about either, though at least he could keep in touch with Skwisgaar there.  

“Nots at all.” A bleak sigh escaped him.  “I woulds do anything to be able to stays here.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, because Skwisgaar told me the same thing, the other day.” Offdensen said.  “And I think it should be possible to arrange that.”

“Really? How?” Toki dropped a set of robes covered in cat hair into his trunk and focussed his complete attention on the recently graduated, former Head Boy.

“Well, I, ah, got headhunted for a position in the International Magical Office of Law in the Ministry of Magic, and I might be able to pull a couple of strings here and there to make sure that you and Skwisgaar become, ah, permanently enrolled at Hogwarts, if you’d like.”

The thought of moving overseas where his parents could not reach him filled Toki’s heart with joy. Perhaps Hogwarts’ education was a bit tamer, but that would leave plenty of room for palling around with his new friends and making sure their music really took off.

“Oh, please, coulds you do that? If Skwisgaar is comings back I wants to come back here, too!”

“I’ll do everything in my power to make it happen.” Charles nodded. “I’ll contact you by owl as soon as I know more.”

“Thanks you, Charles!” Toki launched himself at his friend, who lightly patted him on the back.

“Listen, Toki. If your parents or anyone else ever give you, ah, trouble, don’t hesitate to contact me. I’ll come and get you. Norway is just an Apparition away for me, now.”  

Toki beamed up at him. In the shelter of his friends’ protection, maybe he would not even have to resort to learning the Dark Arts to rid himself of his tyrant father. A future like that sounded almost too good to be true, but Toki was nothing if not a dreamer.

“I’ms going to write you tons of letters whether I gets in trouble or nots!” He closed his overly full trunk with a grunt of effort.

“I, ah, I’d like that.” Charles cleaned his glasses on the red tie he wore underneath the crisp black robes. A Hufflepuff no longer, it had taken him no time at all to collect a professional wardrobe. “Are you done packing? I’ll get your trunk down to the common room. Pickles is waiting for us.”

Pickles waited in the cosy common room with his own trunk at his feet, his hands deep in the pockets of the studded leather jacket he wore with threadbare Muggle jeans and worn trainers. Seth’s owl slept in a cage on top of the trunk, because somebody had to take the poor bird home.

“You goings back to your parents, Pickle?” Toki asked.

“Hell no!” Pickles scoffed. “I figured now that my brother has… moved out, I might as well leave the nest as well.” He offered Toki a crooked grin.

“So sorries your brother endeds up sentenced to seven years in Azkaban.” Toki offered his commiserations. “If I hads a brother, I woulds be so sad!”

“If yew had Seth for a brother, yew’d do what I would do: turn yer back on the whole fuckin’ lot of them!” Pickles said cheerfully.

“But Pickle… where will you live? You’s only sixteen!”

“Who cares? I’m minted!” He laughed. “I never thought I’d say this, but I might be movin’ in with Murderface for a while, at least till I’m seventeen, too. That Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery is a real pain in the ass.” 

 “Wowee, yeah, tells me about it. So Moidafaice gots a place somewhere?”

“Nah, not yet.” Pickles shrugged. “We just hatched this plan last week, so we’re just gonna go to London ‘n see if we kin find a landlord that’ll accept payment in Galleons. Or we’ll squat somewhere. We’ll figure it out. Worst case scenario I have to put us up at the Leaky Cauldron for the summer.”

“You woulds rather do that than goes back to your parents?” Toki asked, amazed.

Pickles looked at him sharply. “If ye could afford it, wouldn’t yew?”

After a moment of internal deliberation, Toki nodded. “Ja, I totally woulds. Too bads I don’ts gots a chance in hell.”

“Ye never know, pal. Just let Charlie work his magic over the summer, and who knows. Ye might be movin’ here sooner than yew know.” Pickles nudged Charles in the side.

“As I said, I’ll do my best.” Charles smiled his demure smile. “Let’s go, boys. The train is waiting.”

When the three of them passed the Great Hall on their way outside, Abigail caught up to them.

“Toki!” She was breathing hard from running, and her curly ponytail bounced in time with her steps. “Don’t forget your Pygmy Puff!”

Toki held out his hand to take it from her. “Oh wowee, thanks you. I thought I packed it.” He looked around to see if Skwisgaar was there, too, but there was no sign of him. He paused to pet the Pygmy Puff with a careful finger.

“You left it in the Ravenclaw dormitories, so…”

“What’s you goings to does for the holidays, Abigails?” Toki asked.

“Oh, ehm! My parents are still keeping it a surprise, but knowing them, probably a couple of weeks abroad. We might visit family, or, what I’m hoping for – maybe we’ll go looking for new magical creatures in the rainforests of Asia or-” she smiled excitedly. “It could be anything, but my parents are pretty adventurous types, so…”

Toki imagined Abigail in khaki shorts, brandishing a machete deep in the jungle, and giggled.

“What?” She asked with an amused smile.

“Just tryings to imagine it.” Toki grinned.

“It’s mostly me and my siblings whining about snacks while our parents do the actual exploring.”

“I’ll miss you, Abigails,” Toki sighed. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed him.

“Our owls are all going to have a busy summer, I think.”

They walked the rest of the way outside in silence. Toki looked around him to imprint every quirky and majestic feature of Hogwarts castle in his mind so he would never forget in case he would not come back. During the wait for the carriages to Hogsmeade station, they were joined by Nathan and Murderface, who were carrying their brooms as well as their trunks and owl cages.

Nathan tried to signal Toki to step away from Abigail so he could have some one on one conversation, but Toki pretended to not get it. He knew how Abigail felt about Nathan and Pickles’ occasional advances – she did not want to become involved with anyone from their group of friends – so he did not budge.

“Hey, uhh, Abigail…” Nathan began. “Obviously the last year has been very… uhh… special, so I was thinking, maybe you and I could, you know, over the holidays-”

“Oh hey, Dorinda!” Abigail jumped forward to greet a fifth-year Ravenclaw girl about to get into one of the Thestral-drawn carriages. Toki hid his smirk by trailing after her to pet the Thestral’s leathery muzzle. By the time Abigail finished speaking to her friend, Nathan had become engrossed in conversation with Murderface and Pickles.

“Abigails,” Toki asked. “Haves you seen Skwisgaar?”

“Yeah, sweetie. He was kind of slow with his packing since the Durmstrang ship leaves later – though I think he was just looking to avoid the crowds.” She gave him a meaningful look.

All too soon an empty carriage arrived to take his friends to the Hogwarts express. Everyone but Abigail protested his hugs and promises to write, but Toki stared and waved at them until the carriage moved beyond view.

Walking against the drying stream of students, Toki dragged his feet towards the Durmstrang ship that had re-appeared in the Great Lake.  The stunning view of the castle from the railing on the starboard side of the ship was going to be the last he saw of it.

“Better hope dat Charles make good on his promises, ja?” Skwisgaar asked. Toki heard his voice before his presence cast Toki in a shade. “Otherwise it ams just you and me. We only gots each other at Durmstrang.”

“I hope so too, but regardless, we will makes it. We _still_ gots each other.” Toki corrected.

“You gots a good point there, little Toki.” Skwisgaar gave him one of his rare, small smiles.

The underwater journey back to Svalbard took the rest of the day, but up north it was still light when the ship arrived at its destination. Most students disembarked the ship to be welcomed by their parents, but Toki and Skwisgaar hung back a little. They exchanged a knowing glance when they took in each other’s parents for the first time after complaining about them to each other all year. Serveta Skwigelf was leaning against a Muggle car, a Saab 900 that matched the red of her revealing robes. Toki’s parents stood as far away from her as possible, clad head to toe in black.

Skwisgaar leaned over to whisper something before they parted ways. “Remember, bes ready for anything on Midsummer’s night if Charles don’ts pull us out by then.”

Toki nodded. “I wills. Haves a nice summer, pals.”

“I will sees you.”

Skwisgaar’s mother bundled him into the car without much ado. Toki was surprised to see the car make a vertical lift off and disappear entirely before it even reached the low cloud cover.

“Wowee,” he said softly to himself. He wished his parents had a flying car.

His parents silently motioned him to come over and take the extra broomstick they had brought. They either did not believe in Side-Along-Apparition – or they just could not manage it, Toki thought for the first time. He sighed. It was going to be a long flight home.

***

The longest night according to Toki’s parents was an excellent excuse to make him work until he dropped. Boarding school meant they had no one to do their chores for them when September rolled around, and they tried to make Toki do everything that needed to be done in the short months he did spend at home. He was still chopping up a tree he felled with his father earlier at the edge of the woods when his parents had long gone to bed.

Rumbling in the sky caught his attention when it got nearer. It did not sound like thunder. The source of the sound did not become visible until it reached the cover of the trees: a red Saab 900 made a shaky touchdown ten yards away from where Toki was working. Skwisgaar stuck his head out of the window.

“Quicklies, gets you stuff and gets in de car!”

Toki was distantly aware that he stared with open mouth. He came to his senses and ran to the barn, where he had hidden his packed trunk and caged owl. His heart pounded against his ribcage when he slammed the booth closed and he saw his father sprint towards them in his nightgown, brandishing his wand.

“Skwisgaar, goes, goes!” Toki urged as he slid into the passenger seat.

The Saab 900 slowly lifted off the ground – too slowly. Aslaug began firing spells to ground them, red and green light whizzing past the car. He was not a powerful wizard, but Toki was not taking any chances. He yanked his wand from his backpack and opened the window.

“Fucks the Ministry, this is self-defence.” He ducked to avoid a well-aimed curse. “Expelliarmus! Stupefy! Confringo!” He kept missing due to the cars shuddering trajectory, and became increasingly frantic in his attempts. “Expulso!” The blast nearly missed his father. Toki gritted his teeth, changed the grip on his wand and leaned further out of the window. “Avada-”

“Tokis!” Skwisgaar’s horrified voice pulled him to his senses.

“ _Petrificus Totalus_!”

And just like that, the pursuit was over. Toki could have sworn his father’s baleful eyes followed them until Skwisgaar pressed the Invisibility Booster, but Aslaug was unable to lift a finger to thwart his son’s departure. Toki and Skwisgaar were both breathing hard when they reached the dream-like landscape above the clouds.

Skwisgaar was the first to start laughing. The car swerved a bit as he turned his head to regard Toki with a grin. Toki felt his face break into the biggest smile he had ever known.

“So, little Toki,” Skwisgaar said, flying steadily north-east, “how does a holidays in Sweden sounds?”

“Pretties magical.”

All was well.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was it for Hogwartklok! We appreciate comments here and on tumblr, where you can find us under the same usernames. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
